


Unprecedented

by Mis_Shapes



Series: Writer's Picks [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Background Relationships, Banter, Beach Trip, Doctor Jon Snow, Emotional Sex, Emotional Slow Burn, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fashion Designer Theon Greyjoy, Flirting, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Gratuitous references to ancient greek literature, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Theon Greyjoy, Past Abuse, Pining, Scar Kissing, Self-Esteem Issues, Switching, Unrequited Jon/Val, and they were quarantined, hair cuts, past thramsay - Freeform, social distancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mis_Shapes/pseuds/Mis_Shapes
Summary: When Snow's shitty flatmate throws him out in the middle of a pandemic, life and Robb force Theon to take him in. There's nothing like an end of the world scenario to make you reevaluate your entire relationship with your childhood rival.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow
Series: Writer's Picks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780456
Comments: 128
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's not as dire as the tags may suggest, I just want to make it clear that there are references to some darker times.
> 
> Thank you as always to those that gave this a read through, and to [Lydia_Martin_trash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/pseuds/Lydia_Martin_trash) for holding my hand through it all

In the few days since Theon began working from home he has developed a well-working routine. It goes a little something like this:

 **8am** Get up, drink vast quantities of coffee

 **8.30am** Shower

 **9am** Log on and check in with Ky and Wex

 **9.30am** Morning meeting, get into argument with boss

 **11am** Fuck boss, day time television 

**12pm** Respond to clients

 **1.30pm** Lunch

 **2pm** Government-mandated Daily Exercise

 **3pm** Begin actual work

 **4.30pm** Mourn hands on element of job

 **5.45pm** Be brought back from creative meltdown by Kyra

 **6pm** Yoga

 **7pm** Mourn lack of company

 **7.30pm** Dinner

 **8pm** Plan to do something productive, browse social media instead

 **9pm** Booze and vegetate

 **10pm** Begin flirty discussion with a previous hook up… or two

 **11pm** Call said lucky winner

 **12pm** Gain a spark of inspiration

 **1.45am** Try to sleep

 **2.30am** Actually sleep

Ok, so very little of this is actually on his intended schedule, but that’s the general gist of things as they stand. The man can’t be blamed, its an ‘unprecedented situation’ after all, and he’s not about to be taken in by these ‘use this as an opportunity’ types and those apparently living life to its fullest even trapped inside their homes (let’s just ignore his own social media presence here, that’s just business.) It's not the best, true, but it's perhaps the closest he can get to living ‘normally’, or his normal patterns at least - which is apparently beneficial, but we’ll get to that later.

Unfortunately, this was about to come under threat when on Day 5, at 11.30 am (during a replay of Bob’s Burgers), Robb’s cheery bearded face he had saved to the contact flashes on his phone. Honestly, it was like the world had decided in those few days that video calls were now the default method of communication, and this was not a happy development. Anyone else and he might have left it to go to voicemail, but if he was going to answer a call from anyone, it was going to be from Robb who, up until about a year ago when he’d left to move in with his now wife, had once lived with him, taking up the second bedroom that now sat empty.

“Morning,” Robb smiles brightly with a flash of teeth. 

This was no ‘I’m bored’ chat he’d called for, Theon knew him too well for that, he can sense it by the way Robb’s blue eyes follow Jeyne as she walks past him, immaculate wavy hair and all, and continues to go about her business around where her husband is stood at their kitchen island, a water bottle in hand and beads of sweat on his brow from what Theon assumes was a morning run.

“Hey, how’s things?” Theon asks, sorting out his own hair when he sees how he looks on the screen.

“Fine.. fine… you know, as much as they can be.” As if that is something literally everyone doesn’t say. “Weird, this, isn’t it? Thank fuck they’re finally doing something about it. You’ve been working from home a few days now though anyway haven’t you?”

“Yeah, it's relatively simple, y’know, so, why not. Avoids having Baelish breathing down my neck every minute of the day.” He says, neglecting to mention the dire mood he’s been in recently. “How about you? I assume you won’t be in anymore. Is Jeyne going to be in school every day still or do they have some sort of rota in place?” 

“Uh, well…” Robb scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, suddenly avoiding direct eye contact for a split second, “that’s kind of why I’m calling. In a roundabout kind of way. So, we have some news. Jeyne-“ he waves Jeyne over and brings her into the picture, and Theon sits up a little with anticipation. He’d been waiting for this moment but now it's here he’s still thrown by it. 

“We’re pregnant!” Jeyne sings, flashing an ultrasound picture that resembles a peanut more than anything else. They look at each over with such wonderment that Theon’s stomach churns. 

_‘We’re pregnant._ ’ Call him crazy, but only one of them is pregnant.

“Oh wow! Congrats you two! That’s a nice surprise.” It’s neither really nice nor a surprise to his ears. Robb has become increasingly absent from his life and a baby is really not going to help matters. Besides, he really can’t be doing with listening to more parents talking about their children, he gets enough of that at work.

“Thank you!” They both grin from ear to ear. This kid is going to have one of the widest smiles known to man. “We were waiting a little while to tell everyone,” Jeyne begins, “but with everything going on, it means I’m now in the ‘shielded group’ or whatever, so I can’t work or meet with anyone or anything…”

“Right…” says Theon, hoping it's enough of a response to be polite, unsure of why and desperate to know how and why this affects him.

“Which is why I’m calling,” Robb finally injects. He wets his lips as he tends to do when nervous and Jeyne leaves the vicinity, squeezing his arm to reassure him as she does, and plays with the strings of his gym hoodie, evening out the lengths on either side. “Jon called.”

Theon frowns slightly, It's rare anyone decides he cares what's happening in Snow’s life. Last he heard he’d graduated in medicine. He assumes he’s now a doctor, and good for him, it suits his superiority complex down to a T. “Oh right, things must be pretty mad his end, huh?”

“Yeah… yeah. Well, anyway, his flatmate is throwing him out, says they don’t want to be living with anyone working in healthcare.”

“Oh, wow. What a fucktard.” This at least is not a forced reaction, it really is a dick move. Even if it is Snow, but then more fool them if they decide to live with the dull sod in the first place.

“Yeah, so, he asked if he could stay with us-“ Theon does not like where this is going, “-but with Jeyne being pregnant and everything, it's not ideal and now he knows he’s dead set against it. And, well, you live closer to the hospital than anyone we know - Jon included - and, you still haven’t found a roommate and you said yourself you could do with help with the rent since I moved out…” he trails off, leaving Theon to read between the lines, and to be honest, he’d managed two sentences in.

“Robb,” he sighs and fights against an eye-roll, “you’ve been gone over a year.”

“I know, I know. But, it's still true. You know what I mean.” 

He does, things have been a little tight since Robb left and he’d stopped taking handouts from his shitty ex and he’s had to cut back on some ‘luxuries’. Hey, at least clothing’s not much of an issue in his line of work.

“Does he know you’re asking me?”

“Yeah. He was a bit worried, but honestly, I don’t think he has many options. I said I’d ask but he wanted to make sure you knew there was no pressure.” Oh right, yeah, will you take in this PHS* hero during an international health crisis, no pressure? He’s not that heartless, which says something about Jon’s roommate. “And he says he’s looking out for anything that comes up. You know, like some of these hotels who are offering rooms, or Airbnbs nobody’s using. And honestly, I don’t think you’ll even know he’s there. He works stupid hours even during normal times.”

“Fine,” Theon sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and simultaneously cursing both his soft spot for Robb and the part of him that is screaming against this, he might as well have an angel and devil on his shoulders, “sure. I assume he still has the address?”

Robb nods with clear relief. “Thanks. They want him out ASAP-“

“No problem, just tell him to come whenever he’s ready,” he forces a weak smile, “not like I’m going anywhere after all.”

“Thank you, I owe you one. Just try not to kill him.”

“Me?” asks Theon indignantly. Does Robb remember nothing? “Kill _him_?”

“Ok, fine,” Robb tries not to laugh and holds up a hand in surrender to Theon’s point, “try not to antagonise him into killing you… that would be a shame.” 

It’s also a whole lot more likely.

* * *

It’s ten to six and Kyra has not yet brought him back from the urge to scrap everything he has even contemplated over the past three hours when the intercom rings.

“Was that the doorbell?” Asks Kyra, from his laptop on the dining table, instinctively leaning forwards like she might be able to see something. Drowned God, her tits when she does that - not that that’s something he should be thinking about now, or ever. Not that that hadn’t been fun in the past. Just not incredibly wise to sleep with one of the few coworkers he actually values.

“Mmm, one sec, Ky.”

He doesn’t bother muting his mic or turning off the camera before he leaves to buzz in Snow. Snow’s not going to want some great reunion anyway. That’s one thing that might make this workable, he’s a man of few words. If Theon reduces the amount he tries to get anywhere with him there will be little interaction to be had, and he’s tired of trying to make Snow realise he’s not out for him every minute of the goddamned day. He’s known worse, those that bore him out of his mind just as much but insist on talking to him anyway.

What he isn’t prepared for is the, albeit very small and forced, polite smile which softens Snow’s usually stern long face when he opens up the door. He’s stood with a huge rucksack hanging from one shoulder like it’s nothing and a duffel bag in the other hand. 

“Here, let me take one of those,” Theon says without thinking, a little too focused on Snow’s hand on the rucksack, and Jon reluctantly passes him the duffel bag after a number of polite protestations that scream Stark at him and when he finally does get his hands on it it almost tears his fucking arm off.

“Sorry, I’ll-“ Snow immediately tries to take back the bag, and for some, crazy, reason, Theon, the masochist that he apparently is, refuses.

“It’s fine, I’m capable of carrying a bag, but what the fuck have you got in here? Bricks? Did Robb not warn you he’d left his weights here or something?” It’s a joke, of course it's a joke. Any reasonable person would know this, but then when has Snow ever been a reasonable person.

Jon’s ‘smile’ drops in an instant and the defenses come up. “I wasn’t expecting someone else to be carrying it, I-“

“Come on,” Theon beckons Jon inside, ignoring his mumbles, and grapples with the bag's weight across the small hallway. 

Snow follows behind him. “Thank you for this.”

“It’s fine, no problem,” he murmurs, although it is really not fine and definitely a problem. He’s never answering the phone to Robb again.

“I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can, I promise-“

“Don’t worry, Snow, I know. I doubt you’d be here unless you were desperate.” This is 100% the truth, he barely even came here when Robb lived in the flat, always making up some reason his brother should go to him instead. Theon might have been insulted if he was made that way.

“I don’t mean like that, I just mean, I know I’m not… Well, you know what I mean.” Jon pauses in the hall, looking around at the walls. Which is fucking typical of him really. “It’s nice, I like what you’ve done.”

Theon snickers at him, he sounds like some robot trained in politeness. It’s baffling to him sometimes that Snow got such a hard time from Cat, their foster mother for lack of a better way to put it. “Robb would’ve hated it,” he comments, mostly for something to say.

Hate’s a bit much, but it certainly wasn’t to his tastes. Not a gaudy primary colour in sight. 

The walls are a dark grey decorated in geometric copper patterns, purposefully pulling the eyes of the viewer along and away from the entrance and living area. It's like this to minimise that shock to the system inherent with moving from one place to the other. Once it had been the bright white of a new development complete with glaring light fixtures to contrast with the brickwork in the corridors outside. When he ensured that he left clubs before the lights turned on, he wasn’t about to fight with the design of his own home when he brought back a guest. It was just nice enough to be pleasant on the eye without being too obvious, but here was Snow tracing one of the lines with his finger.

“I’m not Robb,” Jon states solemnly, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat when he swallows, before he turns to walk again. No, he’s not, he’s a moody prick.

They pause in the doorway of Robb’s abandoned room. Inside it’s exactly the same as the day he left. The walls are still the standard magnolia that hadn’t been quite as obvious when its previous occupant had been in it, just a background to his life that hung on the walls. The signed shirt, the album art, and then there were all the photos, but now the walls are as empty as Theon feels, bar the striped blue blinds still in place. There was no way Jeyne was going to let them go up in her house. Now all that remains are the aforementioned set of weights, the trace of blu tack, and the succulents on the chest of drawers looking very sorry for themselves. He should probably make more of an effort to water them now and again, but it's Snow’s problem now. This is perhaps the closest he’s been to Jon in the past decade, and from this vantage point he can see the minute scar on his cheekbone from the last time, just a little down from his dark lashes. He’s not quite sure if this is what’s provoking the moment of melancholic intimacy or simply that it's strange for the pair of them that Jon is about to take the room belonging to Robb. Perhaps the country falling apart around them also has something to do with it.

He can’t even quite remember what the argument had started off about in the first place. But what he can remember is that it had been one of those that had continued for the vast majority of the day whilst on holiday in some secluded cottage on the coast. On such occasions, trapped in the middle of nowhere, one had to find entertainment where one could, and teasing Snow over his attachment to his phone was one such entertainment. This did not bode well for being under lockdown with a person. On reflection, taking said phone had undoubtedly been a poor move and had been bound to push the younger boy over the edge, but Snow was the first to throw a punch. Trudging up the hill from the beach the small altercation had them stumble to the edge of the path and into the ditch and hedge. He’s not proud they each came away with blood injuries, but it’s not like he could be blamed. At least not fairly, but then life was rarely fair in Theon’s experience.

“So,” starts Theon, as Jon breaks the moment by stepping away to chuck the rucksack on the bed, and he lets the bag he’s holding drop to the floor. The look he receives from Snow is confirmation for the suspicion Theon has that it's full of books. He’d earnt himself a sly kick to the shin the time he’d earmarked a page in one of Snow’s favourite books as a child. He can’t be too bitter about this despite the clear overreaction, he’d known very well what he was doing. “I put sheets on the bed because I wasn’t sure if you’d have the right size, but feel free to change them. There’s more in the drawer under the bed… do whatever… you know. Make yourself at home. There’s not a lot of food,” he pauses, something which is about to be misinterpreted, “but please help yourself.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” Jon sighs heavily and looks to the window and the light streaming in across the floor, “I’m not about to eat all your food.”

“I know.” He really can’t be doing with Jon and his need to turn everything he says into a ‘thing’, and so he chucks him the spare key to where he stands by the bed. “But it would be fine if you did,” Theon tells him before he leaves the room. And it's truer than Snow will realise.

“So,” Coos Kyra as soon as he enters the room, nose now in a glass of red wine, “who’s the boy?”

“It’s not like that,” Theon tells her with a glance back towards the door.

“Oh,” she laughs, “hun, I can tell as much.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Tuesday, sometimes I lack patience and I'm writing faster than expected.

At age 9, life had already chewed Theon Greyjoy up and spat him back out again. Even had he found some supportive environment from then on, he’d no doubt still be royally fucked up, but it just so happened that that didn’t go swimmingly either. He’s sure Ned Stark’s intentions were better than a simple ‘help me ease my conscience’ or ‘it’s good for politics’ when he proposed fostering the child of the family his own police force had just taken under to his wife Catelyn. Theon would say she probably thought one more kid around couldn’t do much harm, but when he came into the family the child contingent was formed only of Robb, Jon, both of whom were a fair few years younger than him, and a tiny Sansa. They’d already taken on Jon, by-product of an ill-thought-out dalliance of Ned’s 4 years earlier. On reflection, he can see why she hadn’t taken well to taking in yet another stray child with a babe in arms, especially when the pair on them were intent on riling each other up wherever possible.

It had been an accident waiting to happen - the downfall of his family, too much cash under the table to be sane. He can’t remember the words, but he can remember the scream and shouts. He can’t remember the faces but he can remember the uniforms that raided the house. If anyone asks about this night now he will shrug and tell the tale as though it is a trivial thing barely worth a mention - other than for those looks girls give him. Partly because the level of chaos was a given for every other night in the Greyjoy house, partly because in some respects it was a relief to get out, partly because that has always made him uncomfortable to think on, and partly because there was little fight to get him back. Now, of course, it's just one thing in a run of shitty events. 

It’s a struggle to know where to start with these things. How do you begin to tell them in isolation of the whole picture? When Davos had first started asking him what he wanted to talk about, the sheer weight of it had left him with ‘nothing really’ or something along the lines of a minor frustration with a colleague over the shared work microwave. 

This is Jon Snow. He is the irritating fly on the steaming shit pile of life.

“Foster family kid,” is what he tells her. He’s not about to use the term brother as he might with one of the others. “ _Self-righteous prick,_ ” is what he signs afterward, after checking Jon can’t see. Thank the gods for having had Wex, the final member of their work family, in their lives long enough to pick up one extremely useful life skill.

Snow makes a couple of trips between his room and the carpark downstairs and does very little to acknowledge Theon’s existence, but in the process, Theon has had good sense to put in headphones so that only he can hear Kyra’s running commentary each time he passes the doorway. Gods, he wishes she had always been there, which would have made his teen years far more bearable.

“Bit fit, isn’t he?” She reasons, elbow on the table and flat palm facing up. “At least there’s that.”

Theon glances instinctively over his shoulder to watch as Jon passes the door carrying a cardboard box. He’s not got the devilish good looks of his half brother, that’s for sure, but then who does? Other than Theon himself, of course. But, no, he’s not without his ‘charms’. There are those lips for starters. The arse on him.

Rolling his eyes, Theon scoffs. “If you like that ‘just sucked on a lemon’ kinda vibe, I suppose.” 

His friend raises her perfectly shaped brows. Perhaps that hadn’t quite been the right thing to say. A little too much denial. Sure, he’s no model, but… then, here he is watching those muscles work. And then there’s that small detail he’s neglecting to acknowledge that moment earlier where he caught himself inhaling like some kind of animal. So what? Sometimes people just smell nice. That’s just a fact. A whole chunk of the company’s profit comes from making people smell good if there was no one to take note what would be the point? And, well, he’s only human and he’s had zero real-life company for a week now. Not that Jon smelt of fancy aftershave rather than plain soap and his own scent. 

Theon grins despite himself. “And, I don’t think that’s a pro, Ky,” he points out. Seriously, they’re stuck like this for at least three weeks now. That's a long time to be living with any consequences of whatever reaction any advance might provoke. Even if it went well, he’d not be able to cope with the inevitable fallout. There’s no sneaking about in the morning or lazy excuse to get a conquest out if you share a living space.

She chuckles and takes an exaggerated sip from her glass with a knowing look over the brim. They both know disliking someone has never been a complete deal-breaker for him, and they both know he has zero willpower.

Kill him. Kill him now.

When he finishes the conversation, which eventually did move onto a bootcamp she’s become particularly fond of on youtube (he suspects largely due to the instructor, because, well… he would), and closes the laptop, Snow appears in the doorway. There’s not a doubt in his mind that Jon’s just been hovering out in the hallway waiting for him to finish up.

He bites his lip lightly and takes a tentative step into the kitchen area. “Hey, are you busy?”

“Nah, what’s up?” Theon asks, getting up and walking the short distance to open up the fridge and taking one of the beer bottles from the door and a second to offer to his reluctant new roommate.

“I thought it would probably be best if we talk logistics. We should try to condense how many times we’re shopping.”

“Ok, sure,” he shrugs and opens the cutlery drawer to seek out the bottle opener, it makes sense, he supposes, “write me a list or something and I’ll pick you stuff up too when I do mine.”

“Well, I… “ Jon hesitates before taking the beer offered to him. “you think that’s best? I could take the car and-”

Theon arches a singular brow, expecting Jon to dig his heels in still, just because this is the dance they do. “Spread hospital germs all over the supermarket?”

Snow’s grey eyes meet Theon’s own, holding them hostage under intense judgment, and he feels the world around him crumble when he says “Will you be ok?” 

Shaking the feeling from him, because of course he’ll fucking be ok, Theon twitches the corner of his mouth into a smile he hopes conveys just the right amount of ridicule. “Of course I’ll be ok, I can carry a couple of extra bags just fine.”

“OK, well, thanks, for the offer and,” he motions to the drink and brings it to those lips of his, knuckles prominent in his hand’s tight grip. It's way past yoga and well into mourning lack of company o’clock. “I’ll write you a list for next time you go. I won’t need a lot.”

* * *

In the vast majority of aspects it's like having no roommate at all. Jon has left for work before he wakes in the mornings, and he slinks back in during the late evening, often while Theon’s watching some comedy panel show, and says very little. He was also telling the truth when he’d said he wouldn’t be eating all of Theon’s food. In fact, he eats very little of it at all from what Theon can tell. Comparing him to Robb is like night and day. But boy, does he do it anyway.

All in all, for the first week or so of this new living arrangement Theon’s schedule is largely unaltered, other than the quite regular disturbance of evening entertainment, but at the beginning of week two something changes without any prior warning from Snow. It begins with a day in which he appears not to have work, which is fair enough really, judging by that worn-out look he’s been sporting as he walks around the flat. But the day after, Theon is sat bleary-eyed at his laptop about to have his daily chat with Kyra and Wex when he’s shocked into spilling tea over the table by a rattle of keys and the front door opening out of nowhere.

Snow rubs his face and the shadow of stubble at his jaw as he closes it behind him and kicks off his shoes. It’s something that would irritate the hell out of him if he had any energy right now. It takes all of two seconds to untie laces and take them off properly, and then, of course, he just pushes them under the shoe rack with his foot. When he realises Theon is sitting there he yawns and says, “Morning,” from behind his hand. He’d looked tired when he first moved in but there are now prominent dark circles forming under his eyes and Theon suspects it's not just because he’s been at work overnight.

Theon frowns and glances at the time on his laptop as though this might ease his confusion. It’s really not going to. It's mid-morning and Jon would normally be at work but he vaguely recalls having only heard the door go and not actually having seen him last night. “Are you just getting in?”

“Yeah,” Jon nods as he hangs up his black peacoat on the hooks by the door, “changed to nights and handover didn’t go incredibly smoothly this morning.”

Maybe it’s because he hasn’t had a conversation with someone not on a screen in two weeks, maybe it’s because he’s actually interested in how work was, even if that’s primarily because the thought of going out to work and living a life is so alien right now, but Theon hears himself say, “Oh right?” And it’s not purely out of social obligation.

“Too many admissions in the night, missing registrars. I thought I’d never make it out.” There’s a hint of humour in the final statement. Theon takes another look at the clock. 8.58am. Wex and Kyra will forgive him for this small lapse in their routine.

“Do you… do you want tea? I just spilt mine so I was about to make a new one.” Liar. He was about to start his meetings. Snow looks as startled as he feels. “We have decaf.” ‘We’ have decaf, he says. _We_. 

“Yes, please, if that’s ok,” Snow responds, and Theon declines to point out he wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t because it’s only going to rile him up. “I’d love one. Decaf would be great. I’m just going to go wash my hands and change and whatnot,” he says, pointing his thumb towards their rooms and the bathroom.

Theon gives the most nonchalant “sure” he can muster.

Nothing has ever been more awkward. Fine, that’s an exaggeration, but wow, what the fuck has he done. And yet, he’s making a mental note to tell Davos about this during their next session, because this is some progress is what it is. He’s going to have to omit the part where he takes a vested interest in watching Snow walk away, because Davos is bound to tell him it doesn’t really count as trying to form new relationships if he only has one particular, and exceedingly common for him, motive, which isn’t Theon’s intention but he can’t claim not to have thought about it.

He flicks on the kettle, chucks tea bags into two mugs after spending a little too much time agonising over which to pick out of the cupboard - he has no idea if Snow has a particular type he goes for anymore, and sets about sending his colleagues a quick message to let them know he’s going to have to postpone their catch up.

When Snow does reappear, he’s in a threadbare white t-shirt and a pair of red flannel plaid pajama bottoms Theon could swear he’s seen before on Robb and are therefore a size or so too big for him, and barefoot. 

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Theon smirks and not so subtlely looks him up and down. “Hotshot doctor can’t afford to buy himself any clothes?”

Jon scowls momentarily and crosses his arms over his chest, only serving to show off the holes in the seams at the hem and just how thin and worn the top is, “something wrong with the way I’m dressed, Greyjoy?” There it is again, the sense that Snow isn’t being quite as serious as usual, his tongue in his cheek. It’s a far cry from the laugh he’d get from Robb, but it's something.

“Are we calling this dressed?” He laughs, waving a hand up and down whilst resisting the urge to get close to him and feel the fabric beneath his fingers. What can he say? He’s a flirt.

“More so than I expect the majority of your houseguests are,” snipes Snow. There’s something strange in his posture, in the way he waits for a reaction, a small glint in his eyes perhaps, that takes the edge off his words.

Theon’s mouth opens under an expectant steel stare. There's a whole host of responses his brain supplies for this. He’s right, Theon rarely has friends round, it's primarily a run of one night stands that come and go. When it comes to Snow it's difficult to judge the intention of this dig at him. There’s the distinct possibility that he’s irritated with him and simply just retaliating, this is Theon’s number one go-to assumption when it comes to guessing meaning from him, the mard arse that Snow is. The next possibility is that - and bear with him here - Jon could be teasing him, and this, in turn, could be construed as either a) friendly banter or, gods help him, b) flirting. So he has some options. There’s the ‘jealous, Snow?’ he’d have said 10 years, or even weeks, earlier, one of the many variations of it being a shame or a pity that his sex-deprived mind pushes forwards, and then there’s Davos sat opposite him pulling him back from the chaos and the voice in his head reminding him there are weeks of living together when things go sour.

Theon chuckles. “That’s fair,” he says as he turns to finish making the tea. Every second of the process he can feel Jon’s eyes on him boring into his back, and he understands, he’s as baffled as he is. It’s only when he’s passing over the tea, Jon averts his eyes and swallows when he moves away.

“Thanks,” he says, looking into the cup, “I suppose I should let you get back to work though now, right? Sansa tells me you’re making quite a name for yourself.”

“Trying at least,” Theon shrugs with a half-smile. “At the moment I feel like it's a lot of the work with very little acknowledgment.” He desperately needs to get out from Baelish’s shadow with his constant nitpicking and reining in of Theon’s creative vision. And that stupid fucking goatee.

“That sucks, but,” Jon pauses briefly in the doorway, both hands wrapped around the hot mug and looking as though he might nod off right there, “I know from experience you can be relentless when you want to be, so I’m sure you’ll get there.” Talk about a backhanded compliment.

“Get some sleep, Snow,” Theon says as Jon turns to walk away, knowing full well he’s the type to flip out if you tell them to do something they’re already planning to do, “you look like you need it.”

Jon glances back over his shoulder, raising a brow. “You starting something?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with a cheeky wink and takes a sip of a drink.

The interaction leaves him distracted from the order of business when it comes to the full team meeting, and he quickly finds himself at odds with Baelish. He intends to take out some of the frustration on the tarmac and zone out to some tunes when he goes out that afternoon for a run, but despite dressing for it, for better or worse his fingers call Robb instead of pressing play.

“I wasn’t aware Snow had a more tolerable twin,” Theon says by way of greeting him when he answers, flashing a smile and wink at the neighbour he vaguely knows working on the opposite side of the street.

Robb snorts down the line, “I’m taking it things are going well?”

“That’s a fucking stretch, even for you, Stark. Seriously though, it’s beginning to weird me out a bit.” It’s hotter out than he expects, the spring sun beats down on him. It’s a reminder of what life might have been outside of lockdown. The potential to be sat out in a beer garden with pleasant company, cold cider in hand.

“Let me get this straight,” Robb chuckles, “you’re calling me to complain that Jon is being nice to you?”

“I wouldn’t quite say nice, and I’m not complaining per se,” Theon says, turning a corner, “just confused.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe he might have grown up a bit since you both last actually spent any time together? Besides, you have to admit, he’s kind of at your mercy here.”

“I suppose.” He hadn’t thought about it that way. It leaves him feeling guilty, which is fucking ridiculous. It also has him wistful. He wants to pull at Snow’s strings and to get a genuine reaction. Another way in which life itself feels smothered. “I don’t want him to feel like that.”

Theon can hear the smile in Robb’s tired voice. “Then maybe you should tell him that, because from what I can tell, I reckon he does.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. I'd love to hear some comments 💜
> 
> Also, apologies, often I will try to tone down the British but I can't be arsed, know that Grammarly is screaming at me with its red lines every time I copy and paste something into ao3 on your behalf.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! It's officially Tuesday here and I'm working in the morning so here we go. Hope you enjoy the new chapter, and thanks for the kudos, comments, and chat. You're all gems.

It’s the start of a run of particularly bad workdays. His inspiration definitely went through peaks and troughs during ‘normal’ periods, but this whole being stuck at home really wasn’t doing anything for him. He’s stuck in a rut. Every time he puts pencil to paper and sketches the latest idea it’s tired, a redo of something he’s done previously. 

He’s beginning to crack. Not even the mid-afternoon trip out into the world pacifies him any longer. The park nearby is large enough that at least during the first few runs he could vary up the routes a little, see some different sites, but at this point, he’d be able to navigate it with his eyes closed. There was something about its rigidity that was starting to make him want to scream. The way the lake curved perfectly, its sculpted banks, the ordered way in which the trees were planted in the avenues one by one, and the even paths underfoot. Even the people within it were starting to seem like permanent fixtures within the walls.

Each day Kyra’s task of talking him down from some blow out became greater, but then at the moment there’s very little of her role that she can do from home.

“I can’t do it anymore,” he vents to her image of the screen, “there’s only so much I can do digitally. I need the studio. I should have broken away on my own sooner and be based out of my own place. Looking at something on a screen and imagining how it feels and handles is not working. And Baelish just doesn’t fucking get it.”

She nods sympathetically, catching a long fingernail between her front teeth as she thinks. “Maybe concentrate on your presence? Churn out endless boring shit for Baelish you don’t have to think about. He’ll probably lap it up, you know how he is. And have that on the side to keep you entertained?”

Theon wrinkles his nose at the idea, there’s nothing he likes less than being average, but before he can comment he notices her eyes drift to another part of the screen.

 _Behind you,_ she mouths with a growing smirk. When he looks at the video feed from his webcam he can see Jon behind him, stretching lazily as he moves across the kitchen, a narrow strip of bare skin at his waist as he does. He’s trying to be as quiet as possible, closing each cupboard gently. It’s Theon’s fault really, he should’ve started working from his bedroom, but the light is better in here. And it’s closer to the kettle.

When Kyra excuses herself - not without (silent) protest from Theon - Jon clears his throat to get his attention, walking up behind him with a glass of water in hand. “Hey, so, sorry, I overheard you talking with your friend before,” he says 'friend' in a questioning way, but Theon’s not entirely sure what else Snow thinks she might be to him, “I was thinking maybe, well -”

“What is it, Snow?” Grumbles Theon when Jon tails off. He’s irrationally irritable having had the pep talk cut off early.

“Is there stuff at work it would be useful to have here?”

He can’t help it when his tone turns sarky. “Well, yeah.” Goes without saying, doesn’t it? Especially if he’s just overheard him speaking with Kyra about it.

“Then why don’t we fetch it?” Snow asks cautiously. “Do you have a key?”

Theon cocks his head slightly. Snow is serious about this? About raiding his workplace?

“Nobody's going to be using any of it, are they? If we go tonight no one is going to be there, and we’ll be sticking to the guidelines and whatnot. I’ve got my car so we’ll be fine bringing any of it back - right?” He rubs some of the sleep from his eyes.

“Right... Are you sure?” He looks up at Jon from where he’s sat, taking in the uncomfortably endearing bed head and all. “Aren’t you working?”

“No.” Snow shakes his head. “I’ve got the night off.”

He’s an imposter. Stark doesn’t know the extent of it. “And you’re going to spend a chunk of it doing this?” he asks in disbelief.

“What else am I going to do? Besides, I owe you one.” Things begin to click into place. It’s standard duty-bound Snow come out to play. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Theon pushes aside the unwelcome disappointment he feels. “Fun? Jon Snow up for some fun? I am blessed.”

Jon rolls his eyes. 

The lack of any retaliation is beginning to frustrate him more each time he thinks about it

* * *

And it is fun. Leaving for someplace new is thrilling. He realises while climbing into the car that he hasn’t been out this late since this all started. Dusk is upon them with the clean crisp and cool air of a spring evening. The car is nothing special, but it’s spotlessly clean in a Snow like way, a hospital lanyard and bag Theon supposes has his work stuff is thrown onto the back seat. The passenger side door and glove box are crammed full of CDs, many of them he recognises from years gone by. 

Jon’s cars have always been the same, but this was his first experience sitting in the front seat, with Jon’s knuckles brushing his knee each time he changes gear. Sure, he could bring his legs tighter together or lean to the left against the door, but where would the fun be in that? To miss out on the rush that comes from small touches and wondering whether the other is thinking the same thing, even if it is Snow. If he is, he doesn’t show it, his eyes never leaving the road ahead, the silhouette of his profile, pouty lips and greek nose, against the orange and pinks of the setting sun.

Last time they’d been in a car together it had resulted in a broken CD and so he’s not surprised when Snow side-eyes him warily when he begins to browse the selection.

“I see nothing’s changed,” Theon comments, flicking through a case covered in band stickers. It’s Jon’s teenage bedroom condensed into nylon. “Do you not keep anything more upbeat in here?”

At the next lot of lights, Jon reaches into his door and offers out The Strokes First Impressions of Earth. He wouldn’t describe it as upbeat, but it’s a compromise at least, so he slides it into the CD player.

“Ever thought about joining the modern world and getting a Bluetooth radio, Snow?”

Jon sighs and, finally, looks over to him, fixating briefly on the foot Theon has perched on the dashboard. Theon knows he’s pushing his luck, and it takes all of a couple of seconds for Snow to reach over and knock it off. He’s looking back to watch the lights before he actually speaks. “A. If I had Bluetooth twats like you would take advantage.”

“Me?” Theon chuckles. “Take advantage?”

Snow shoots him a ‘shut up’ look. “B… It’s easy now with digital music to forget things you like, isn’t it? We’re just so bombarded with the endless options it's hard to decide what to listen to and so I find I end up just listening to the same thing over and over or letting it just go on to suggestions. I like listening to albums in the car,” he pauses as he anticipates a negative reaction from Theon for what he’s about to say, “how the artists mean for them to be listened to.” 

He’s not wrong to expect some sort of comment, but Theon can’t bring himself to give it all the punch he would've done in the past. “Pretentious fuck,” he laughs and watches those nervous grey eyes flicker over to him. Before Jon can say anything he follows up with, “I’m joking… mostly. So, you have twats like me in your car? Do I need to be jealous? Have you replaced me with another witty charmer with excellent music taste?”

“Don’t worry, no one could quite replace you.”

“Just poor imitations?”

With this a tiny closed-lip smile appears. “One’s that aren’t quite so contrary.” 

There’s no reason to dispute this other than to add more fuel to Jon’s claim. Instead, he pulls the phone from his jean pocket and snaps a photo of him, face at ease and lit by the soft light. When Jon catches him he tilts his head ever so slightly to see what he’s doing and the second photo captures him surprised, lips parted as he contemplates telling Theon to stop.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” 

Jon’s forehead creases. “Well, don’t.” 

“Why not?”

“I don’t like it,” he says irritably. It’s the voice that comes when he’s about to snap.

Theon is nothing if not persistent. “Why?”

“Look,” He rests an elbow on the car's window and rubs at his temple to ease a brewing headache, “I just don’t like having photos taken of me.”

“But why?” Theon pushes.

Jon raises his voice slightly. “You sound like a child.”

“Come on, Snow.” 

Jon seems to realise that perhaps such a harsh reaction isn’t warranted. “I just… I’m not very photogenic. I always look really dumb. At least give me some warning.”

“Are you kidding me?” Theon asks, honestly taken aback.

“I don’t like seeing myself,” he mumbles.

“Well, that’s fine, because you don’t need to see it,” he says, the wind-up merchant that he is. A pause. “You look good in it.” And then, if only to break the awkward silence, he jokes with a wink, “this lockdown goes on any longer and I’m going to be getting you modeling my stuff.”

Jon simply snorts and makes no comment as he turns onto the street that runs below the company's offices. This time on a normal Saturday night it would be filled with noises, women tottering around in heels as they tug down dresses just low enough and men with their loud laughs as they joke around; then there’s the regular altercation outside the club's entrance on the other side of the road. He’s been there, done that. Today it's dead, but that doesn’t stop him half expecting Ramsay to walk out. They’d met there, with Theon looking for a smoke just outside the doors. 

Strangely enough, Snow picks up on his disquiet, but then he always has been more observant than others. “You alright?” he asks with curiosity.

“Fine,” Theon lies through his teeth, “it's just a bit odd, isn’t it?”

“Yeah… “ Jon says, looking out through the window and turning off the engine. “You know, sometimes at work you can almost forget for moments at a time. And then of course you remember the shit everyone is in and the worry over PPE. Plus, I fucking hate the masks, and A&E is worryingly quiet. But when I’m with the kids themselves, in the zone a bit I guess, it all disappears for a little while, and I’m tired enough when I get back that I’m not too fussed about going out.”

Theon wishes he could relate. Work has felt like pulling teeth and there’s very little to distract him from his thoughts. His motivation is non-existent. It’s taking all his willpower not to turn to the spirit shelf in the absence of his usual therapy.

They manage to make it to the offices without any hitch. Snow is taking in everything as he goes, peeking in through the glass doors and eyeing the framed editorials on the wall, stopping when he finds Theon perched up on a stool, hand in pocket, and looking off to the side as he laughs at something out of shot. He’s wearing his and Kyra’s own stuff, a black shirt embroidered with gold. He looks good despite it not being the shot he’d have picked.

“Seen something you, like Snow?” He teases mischievously.

Jon glances over with a funny look and comments,“it’s a bit different from my photo up on the staff board.”

The studio’s lights are too bright after being out in the dark hallway. Now he’s here it's hard to remember what he wanted to prioritise taking back with them. Because it's too tempting not to, he picks up one of the spare magazines containing the shoot out on the wall outside and slides it along the work table to Jon, who is investigating the beads Kyra had been quite taken with before they all started working from home. He leaves the intricacies to her these days, his dexterity is not what it used to be following the multitude of broken digits. Their closer working relationship is the only happy outcome of a dark period.

Jon looks up and quirks a brow at him.

“In case you wanted to check me out a little more. There’s another on the page after,” he grins. “You can pretend to be reading the interview if you want.”

“I wasn’t- You know-” Snow gives in trying to articulate himself, picks up the magazine and flings it back towards Theon’s head. He ducks just in time, laughing because it’s 100% what Snow would’ve done years ago, but now Jon smirks where before he would have glowered.

Theon nips his bottom lip, turning to look away from him because all he can think about is how he’s always wanted a fuck on this table and how easy it would be to go round it after him for throwing something at him. A playful tackle. Snow and his pretty hair against the white surface, the scattered beads moving with each rock of their bodies.

“So, what do you need?” Jon asks, taking his bag down off his shoulders and breaking him from his daydream.

 _You on this fucking table. A decent shag._ “The samples over there.” He points. “The board, I hope, if we can carry it, and pencils. The beads, why not. Scissors. And the machine.”

Jon sets about gathering up the stuff that will go in the bag, face serious once more. He nears the board and tests carrying it. “I think one of us can get the machine and bag? And the other takes this. It’s not incredibly heavy, just a big bulky.

Their trip back out of the building is as uneventful as getting in and they are soon back in the car and heading back to the flat. That was, until Snow glances over at a road sign and sucks in his lip as he takes a wrong turn.

“Forgotten you live with me now, Snow?” Theon jokes.

He huffs out a little sigh. “Shut up.”

“Do I need to tell a friend I’m with you just in case you kidnap me or something?”

Snow scoff at the very idea. “Be my guest.” It's telling that he doesn’t react in that panicked way he does when he jumps to conclusions at Theon’s jokes. He doesn’t know. “Not eager to get back, are you?”

It’s not like Theon had even had been thinking about it before he says it, not really despite his mind already having been on it less than an hour before, but as soon as it leaves his mouth it's like his body acknowledges in this world it's a possibility. To be taken away from those you care about by someone you’d trusted. His stomach churns and bile rises in his throat. Jon, now focused on the road, doesn’t spot any changes, even when Theon rolls down the window.

He says nothing, which Snow must interpret as a willingness to go along with this adventure, and sits there, cheek against the cold glass to ease the nausea, watching as the stars in the sky become brighter the further out of the inner city they get until they pass the suburbs and the city boundaries. The sea breeze fills the car, not the smell of the somewhat stagnant waters of the harbours of Kings Landing but the fresh ocean air with the crash of the waves against the shore not far from the road.

Pulling his phone from his pocket again he opens up his messages to Jeyne, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. What is there to say? What does he want to say? He only knows that he wants her with him in spirit on some level. Lacking the words, he sends a photo instead of the sea on the horizon.

The car turns down a winding road, not unlike the one on which Jon earnt his scar. Not unlike the one he walked to the cliff edge. Eventually Jon pulls up into a tiny car park behind the dunes and, after parking, wordlessly gets out with only a meaningful look at Theon. In silence, they walk down the concrete slope.

“Change of scenery,” Jon eventually explains.

“Is this government approved behaviour?”

Snow smirks, genuinely amused, “Greyjoy, when have you ever cared about the rules.”

“Are you implying I wouldn’t care about all of this?” It comes out a little more haughty than he’d intended.

Jons face immediately falls and he shakes his head. “No. It’s not like you’re without reason… We’re fine. We’re alone and it’s not like it was a long drive.” Living in Kings Landing has some benefits at least. He crouches to undo his shoelaces with a growing line between his brows. 

Theon’s feet hurt against the gritty sand and pebbles when he follows suit and removes his own shoes and socks, but it's the most alive he’s felt since this whole thing began. The harsh wind rushes against him, and whips his hair across his face, obscuring his view of Snow treading carefully through the line of seaweed on his way to the water's edge, but he catches the way he tenses and his hands unclench and fingers splay when the cold first reaches his toes. It must be fucking freezing. 

He can’t wait for the rush. 

With Jon’s back turned, he chucks the leather jacket he’s been wearing over one of the larger rocks and pulls off his t-shirt to join it. That’s when Snow looks back. His eyes drift over him, taking in Theon’s plans, and linger on his torso, briefly taking in the scars that wrap around him, before he meets his eyes. Ordinarily, there’d be more interest shown in the design covering him. He could’ve had the Kraken tattooed on, or simply kept the original scars covered by clothes, but this way feels like he’s accepting that they exist without taking them as the full picture. It doesn’t take long before Jon tears away and turns his attention to the shallows instead, playing with the way the tide pulls the sands from around his feet. It’s a miracle he can pull the tight chinos high enough his calves not to get them wet.

“How about it?” Theon asks, sliding off his trousers. He leaves the boxers on to save from scandalising Snow.

“Not a chance.”

“Wimp,” he taunts, daring him to prove him wrong.

Jon is immovable. “Because I don’t want to freeze my bollocks off?” 

He has a point. April without a wetsuit or even the sun to warm him back up again.

Theon makes a dismissive noise anyway. “It’s not going to kill you.”

“It’s not going to kill _you_. We both know I’m not a particularly strong swimmer.” He’s not a poor swimmer by any stretch of the imagination, it's more that he lacks the experience swimming in open waters, particularly the sea.

“Suit yourself,” Theon says as he shrugs.

He could kiss Snow. He could also kill him for bringing this thought upon him as a fantasy rather than just an expression. Once he’s managed to get shoulder-deep and somewhat acclimatised, he lays back and lets the water caress him. This is what freedom feels like, the sea stretching beyond the horizon and the dark heavens above him. Half of him relishes this moment of solitary enjoyment and the cool lap of the waves under his chin and at the nape of his neck, the other wishes for the contrast of the heat of a body up against him and a warm hand pulling him in for a kiss. 

It takes a fair amount of time for him to tire of the swim and choose to leave the sea behind him. The muscles of his body are long-neglected, but the buzz of the endorphins have him approach Snow with more energy than when he left. He’s sat up on the rocks now, having found a groove to settle in, a book in hand and glasses on his face. It shouldn’t be possible to read in this light, even for Jon who was always the one to be hiding behind curtains as a child to read through the night, words lit by the yellow glow of the streetlamp outside. By his clothes nearby there is now a towel waiting for him.

It shouldn’t be this hard to say thank you, should it? And yet, the words catch in his throat.

“I remembered I still had my gym bag in the car, and,” Snow waves the book a little. Theon gets it, he wants to let him know - or make out at least - that that’s what he intended to go back for. 

He takes the towel to wipe his face, and approaches Jon. He’s close, too close for this to be sensible, close enough to feel the warmth. Is he really this starved of attention?

Snow stubbornly continues to look at the book. He’s still and tense though, enough for Theon to doubt he’s still reading. With one finger against the cover, Theon lifts the front up, Jon’s hand with it, to read the title. War and Peace. He grins at both it and the look Jon gives him over the brim of the frames daring him on.

“Can I help you?” Jon asks, closing the book with a finger between the pages to keep his place when the first drip from Theon’s hair lands in the centre of the page and ignoring those that spread across his thighs.

“Thanks,” he manages.

“It’s just a towel,” claims Snow unconvincingly and leans further back to look up at Theon openly rather than peering. His gaze gives Theon the chills. His open body language does quite the opposite.

It’s not just a towel. It’s anything but. It’s the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of the best night he’s had in… as long as he can remember quite frankly. It’s an olive branch. It’s something he can’t jeopardise. Not for a one night stand. And, it’s just a fucking towel. A towel out for his sex life.

That look and the one he receives when he backs away haunt him for nights to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the green-eyed monster comes out to play


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is maybe the least favourite chapter I've written, so I'm a little anxious about it, but hopefully you can all bear with me! Thanks to those of you that have subscribed also, it's now the most subscriptions I've had to a fic and its good to know you are interested in reading more!
> 
> Just so you're aware - Jeyne put the flower in her name herself because she is a cutie.
> 
> Hopefully, everything works alright, I've made it so hopefully the messages still make sense if you've got creator style hidden, let me know if there are any problems.
> 
> OH! And happy pride month folks! 🌈

There's a message, missed calls, and voicemails from Jeyne when he’s finally dressed and gotten back into the car. He’s still smiling at the way Snow scolded him for getting sand in the car, but upon seeing this his heart sinks. He should have known she’d worry, he’s a complete fucking idiot. It's a small mercy that Jon is too distracted to notice.

Jeyne P (Cherry Blossom )  
  
**Jeyne:** are you ok???  
  
**Theon:** yeah  
  
**Theon:** fine  
  
**Theon:** I think  
  
**Theon:** sorry  
  


She tries to call again, but he leaves it to ring out. Whatever he’s going to say it's not something he’s going to say out loud, especially not with Jon sitting right next to him in the car. Instead, he turns the radio back on and slots in Muse’s Origin of Symmetry, hoping any vibrations will be covered by the noise, then smiles at Snow’s predictability when he leans over to turn up the volume.

**Jeyne:** do you have someone with you?  
  


It’s purposeful how she words it. Not ‘are you with someone?’ Not ‘is someone with you?’ Because being with someone isn’t always the best place to be. Does he have someone with him? He glances back over to Jon and he must sense eyes on him this time because he looks briefly over with a hesitant smile.

  
**Jeyne:** Theon??  
  
**Theon:** yes, I have someone with me  
  
**Theon:** I’m fine  
  
**Theon:** it’s not that  
  
**Jeyne:** ok, good (Growing Heart )  
  
**Jeyne:** who????  
  


He sends her the second photo of Jon. He knows it would be wiser to send the first, the one where you can’t see the same look in his eyes, where his lips aren’t slightly parted.

**Jeyne:** what?!  
  
**Theon:** oh right. Jon is staying with me. Long story… (Face With Rolling Eyes )  
  
**Jeyne:** that’s got to be…  
  
**Jeyne:** interesting (Face With Tears Of Joy )  
  
**Theon:** tell me about it  
  
**Jeyne:** where are you?  
  
**Theon:** beach  
  
**Jeyne:**...have you just been on a date? (Winking Face )  
  
**Theon:** no, fuck off x  
  
**Jeyne:** what were you doing there?  
  
**Theon:** swimming  
  
**Jeyne:** kinda seems like a date  
  
**Theon:** he read  
  
**Theon:** nothing happened  
  


Well, that now definitely sounds like something happened. 

**Jeyne:** did you want something to happen? (Eyes )  
  


He watches Jon, deep in thought and drumming his fingers lightly on the wheel in time to the music, out of the corner of his eye. 

**Theon:** J, this is Snow we’re talking about  
  


* * *

Jon gets particularly aloof after that night at the beach. It only worsens when a week later he switches back to day shifts again, and if Theon’s being honest he’s a little too preoccupied with his own thoughts and wondering why Snow isn’t back yet while he’s speaking to Sara. His imagination is great, but it's not enough to keep him focused on the sounds of her pleasuring herself on the other end of the line. He’s just about to ask if he can call her back with video on when there’s the telltale jingle of keys and a door opening down the end of the hall.

“Theon?” She whispers between pants.

Down the hallway the front door closes, and Theon can hear Jon messing around out there.

“Sorry, baby,” Theon drawls, “I was just thinking about you.” He wishes he were thinking about her.

“Yeah?”

He lowers his voice and closes his eyes. “Gods, yeah, I’ve not been able to stop all day.” She giggles bashfully, this he can imagine because she’s a blusher he loves to make flush that bright in public and remember how she looks in his sheets. “I miss the way you taste,” he tells her, and can’t help but smirk at the whimper. Jon has gone into Robb’s - sorry, his - room now and he’s uncomfortably relieved. The walls are at least a little thicker than the door. “Are you thinking about it? About my tongue against your clit? ” 

“Mmmmm,” she affirms with a whine just as Jon’s door creaks back open and clicks back closed again. What on earth is he doing? “I’m so fucking wet.” There’s a pause before the bathroom door opens and he finds his answer in the sounds of the shower turning on. At least Jon won’t be able to hear over the noise, but when he finds himself too distracted to match her for efficiency he’s left listening to the running water and irrationally angry. That’s when he does what he’s told himself he wouldn’t, and opens up the recent photos on his phone. This is not a place he wants to be.

* * *

Two days later, a loud cough wakes him through the wall. No, ‘continuous’ coughing wakes him. Within a matter of seconds, he’s at Snow’s door, stopping only to pull on something to cover his lower half, and knocking. He’s not even sure of correct protocol here. It’s past the point where families are expected to have members isolate from each other, but what constitutes that level of ‘we’re in this together now’.

“Snow?” he asks, strangely apprehensive of the response.

“I’m fine,” calls Jons muffled voice

“Then, can I come in?” Theon's forehead rests against the door as he tries to wake up. 2.53am. He yawns and rests his eyes. This is not the time for Snow to be withdrawn, no matter how much he falls back on it. When there's no response after a pause, he tries again, “Snow?”

There’s a heavy sigh from within the room. “If you must.”

Theon’s hand pushes down the handle and swings the door open. It’s a room in his flat, and yet he feels like he’s quite literally crossing a line. Standing in the doorway nervously, he watches Snow taking deep breaths in, sat on the floor with his back against the far wall. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?” 

“It’s not it,” Jon tells him in short terms and takes a deep breath. Declining to say the actual word. They both know what he means. “I’m fine.” It’s hardly reassuring.

Theon looks at him with unbridled skepticism. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’ll be fine.” The following wheeze and cough tells him otherwise.

“Snow,” he says more firmly.

“Asthma,” Snow finally explains, closing his eyes. “A friend’s coming with an inhaler.” He mutters, “you can go now,” when Theon doesn’t instantly react, but seconds later there’s a prolonged buzz coming from the intercom.

“I’ll go,” Theon says quickly before he can argue and motions for him to stay sat.

When he gets there, he doesn’t bother asking who it is and unlocks the door to the building. A minute later, there’s a rap on the door and, when he opens it, a blue inhaler inside a plastic zip-lock bag on the mat outside. A few metres away a woman watches him curiously. And seven hells is she gorgeous.

“Hi,” she smiles, tight-lipped, and gives a half-wave.

“Hey,” his back hits the door frame and a grin brews at the corner of his lips, “you must be the friend?” She nods and her smile seems a little more genuine. “Well, thanks for bringing it,” he says picking it up and gesturing, suddenly well aware he’s topless, “it's definitely needed.”

She’s not what he thinks when he imagines a friend of Snow’s. He doesn’t think well-cut clothing and designer handbags, and he certainly doesn’t think of cropped slim fit grey check trousers and patent leather loafers. She’s also probably around 5 years older than Theon, and therefore significantly older than Snow.

“It’s no trouble, I live nearby,” she tells him, averting her eyes somewhat and moving back some of the honey blonde hair that has escaped her french plait from her face. He’s going to take that as a good sign.

“Was it hard to get?” He’s a terrible person to draw this out, and he knows it.

“No,” the mystery woman says, shaking her head with a little more colour in her pale cheeks, “not at all, it was just in the drawer. He rarely needs to use one, but I guess you never know with these things.”

The realisation makes him want to choke. His stomach drops and he’s standing straight in an instant. _The_ drawer. _His_ drawer? Whatever kind of drawer it is, friends' belongings don’t just live in drawers just in case they are needed. Drowned god save him, which part of this is hard to swallow. 

“Right, well,” he says by way of excusing himself from this increasingly awkward situation, “I should take this to him.” He inclines his head back into the flat. Snow is probably wondering what is going on at this point. He certainly would be. 

“Is he - ” she interrupts him as backs into the flat, trying to look round him and inside, and asks anxiously, “Is he ok?” She’d be too far away to see him properly even if he wasn’t hidden behind walls.

Theon sighs and looks in along the hall towards the room himself. “Says he’ll be fine.” He wishes he could take Jon’s word for these things. When did he start caring? Well, maybe he’d always have been concerned if the situation warranted it. He’s not an animal. There’s a memory he will always hold in which Snow, ever the difficult one, had suffered badly with chickenpox. Mostly, he remembers how Cat stayed with him and insisted that, having never had it himself, Ned stay away. He’d been just as concerned as everyone else, not that he’d have ever let on to anyone else.

“I mean, in general, not this.” She explains, pulling the bag into a better position on her shoulder. “All he’s said to me is that he wants a haircut and can’t go this long without going to a gig.” She smiles in a ‘isn’t that so Jon?’ kind of way, but truth be told it's more than he’s ever got out of him and her face is suddenly so fond that he feels the force of it on his chest.

“Oh, right,” he shrugs non-committedly, “he seems ok, I guess”

He’s really fucking not, though, is he? It dawns on Theon there and then; that zombie look Snow has had going on, the lack of anything of any substance on his shopping list… you don’t describe that as ‘ok’. 

“Stress - ” Her voice pulls him back from his thoughts.

“What?” asks Theon blankly.

“Stress, it’s one of his triggers.” She pauses, waiting for a response she doesn’t get and then finds the need to elaborate. “Smoke too, but you don’t smoke any- ”

“I’m sorry, what?” What the fuck does she know about him? He could do with a fucking smoke right now. Having Snow in his life is a health hazard.

“Sorry, I just,” she scrambles, “I heard him speaking with Robb, and he - ”

That’s enough. Fine. He’s too tired for this shit. “Right.”

“And pollen, but the count is low.” She has a very matter of fact patronising tone which is starting to get to him, and doesn’t wait this time for any sort of comment, but turns to press down the button on the lift and busies herself neatening herself whilst using the reflection on the doors. 

Left watching her leave, he needs a second to gather his thoughts before he rejoins Snow. With no permission, he sits on the edge of the bed opposite the chosen wall and waits with Jon as the inhaler kicks in. Snow’s sheets are soft under his hands, it would be nice just to lay down and have a sleep. He’s not proud of the thing he decides to ask once he deems it acceptable to talk. Gods forbid he actually asks what it is he wants to know.

“Who’s the blonde bombshell?” He’s going for a casual ‘Snow, I don’t give a shit about this development that you might have something going with this woman, please satisfy my idle curiosity.’ To his own ears, he might as well be saying ‘hey, what the fuck?’

After one of his deep breaths in, he frowns, a line creasing his forehead as he looks at the carpet by his feet. “Val.” 

“Informative as ever,” Theon drawls, picking at a loose thread of the duvet cover. “She’s not the one who threw you out is she?” He receives only the shake of Jon’s head. Why the fuck is this a disappointment? He hates himself. “Girlfriend?” There it is.

In clear despair, Jon’s hands card back through his hair. “Can we not do this?”

He should not be checking him out right now but Snow might as well be posing the way his arms look. He might as well be laid out on that fucking table clutching his hair as he reaches the throes of ecstasy. “What?”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” he groans and rolls his eyes, jumping to the _correct_ conclusion, “you didn’t flirt with her did you?” It's strange to know that though they may not know everything that has happened in their lives since they last met, they simultaneously know enough to predict a good deal of each other's reactions. Some things are resistant to change.

“No, Snow,” he says in vehement denial, “I did not flirt with her.” Really though, what in seven hells is wrong with him.

Jon mutters below his breath, “makes a change.”

“Is there something you want to say?” Theon snaps.

He knows then that there is. That after the flirtation between them Snow has overheard him on the phone with others. He knows this because inside he wants to scream at him just the same; for being a complete fucking hypocrite, to ask why loyal, uptight, do-gooder, Jon Snow laid himself out like forbidden fruit ripe for the taking if he’s in a relationship. Snow on the flip side can not be taken aback that Theon has his fun. He should have known Jon would take it all far too seriously.

“Fuck off, Greyjoy,” is what Jon chooses to say, words sharp and with full force.

Theon does go. He can feel the undeniable surge of anger inside him, the panic brewing underneath, the adrenaline that makes his whole body shake. Ordinarily, he’d be out of the fucking place in seconds. He’s done it a thousand times before, stormed into the night without a second glance behind him with no knowledge of where he’s going, hoping that someone reaches out after him, to tell him to come back or don’t go. These people are few and far between, and when they do he will tell himself they do this out of a sense of obligation.

Like a tiger prowling its cage, he paces around the kitchen and living area, hoping he can shake some of this from him. He needs to do something, anything, with his hands. No. Not anything. Anything, in his experience, is usually destructive, it’s what takes him to the cigarette packet hidden in the junk drawer, to one of the bottles, or leaves him broken and bruised.

He clutches the edge of the worktop and tries to listen to the voice of Davos in his head. ‘ _What could you do instead?_ ’ He pulls out a chair from under the table to search the top shelves of the cupboard. ‘ _Remember to breathe. Deep breaths. It’s not as bad as you think_ ’. There’s all kinds of shit up there that he ends up pulling out with the intention to bin and throws them onto the counter, but he does eventually find what he’s looking for. The small dusty yellow box was first brought into his life by Jeyne presenting it as a potential solution to life’s problems. Or the side effects of them anyway. Camomile tea. He wouldn’t go that far, but there’s some therapy in someone passing you a hot drink to soothe your soul, and it surely can’t help to warm his chest.

When he gets back, Snow is sat in the same spot, his lips pursed into a tight line, and staring into the distance with his phone at his feet with a defeated expression. Physically, at least, he seems better. Theon does what he’s been itching to do since this began, he crosses the room, gives one of the teas to Snow - who takes it reluctantly, and slides down against the wall to sit down beside him with his own drink. Because this is apparently what he does now, sits and drinks herbal tea with Jon fucking Snow.

He can’t do this, he can’t handle his own emotional fallouts, nevermind someone else's. He wants to put his arm around Jon’s shoulder like Asha might, or take his hand like Jeyne might, he wants to hold him close, but he can’t. He wants to say sorry, but he can’t. It sticks in his throat just as the thanks had. And so they sit beside each other without a word until Jon’s breathing steadies and the tremor subsides some and he looks over and meets Theon’s eyes.

He smiles the same exact sympathetic smile he’s come to hate on others, and Jon lets out a shaky breath.

“So,” he angles himself to better run his fingers through the unbearably soft hair on top of Snow's head where it has grown long enough to show his natural waves. This is something his hands could do. “She says you’re in want of a haircut.” Gods forbid they have any sensible discussion.

“Get off,” Jon huffs a small laugh and swats his hand away. 

Call him crazy, but Theon could swear Jon’s fingers touch his own for longer than it is strictly necessary, and when he moves straight back in to get a feel for how long it really is and the shape of it, Snow doesn’t immediately push him back off. 

He can’t believe what he’s about to say. “I could do it, you know?”

Jon’s eyes close under the touch. He’s so fucking close, a warm arm brushing against him each time they move. It’s unbelievably tempting to close the gap, but he needs to resist. It's not the time, and it certainly isn’t the right person.

“Hmm?”

“Your hair, you idiot,” laughs Theon.

His eyes are back open and he’s knocking him away again with a smile that threatens to tip up the gameboard of their entire relationship as he knows it. “You are not going anywhere near my hair with scissors, Greyjoy.”

“Clippers?” Theon jokes and nudges him playfully with his elbow. A light pink has spread across the bridge of Jon’s nose. He’s always loved being able to do that to him, but it's never felt quite like this. And it’s usually paired with Snow stalking off. “Come on, Robb let me.”

“He was drunk!”

“So was I and it still worked out,” Theon points out with an impish grin, “Worse comes to worst, we can always shave the whole lot off.”

“No fucking way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn is hanging in there!


	5. Chapter 5

Some of it feels like a dream when he wakes to his alarm in the morning, or some drunken memory he can only partly remember. It’s the moment Jon relaxes at his touch and the flash of his teeth when he laughs, the way it feels when he realises it's him that’s made Jon laugh, that comes the clearest to him. That low chuckle that warms his heart. Small, reserved, and bigger than any roar of laughter he’s heard before. A dream that has left him exhausted.

It takes a lot of effort to drag himself out of bed and half awake, so when he does make it to the kettle he doesn’t immediately notice Snow sitting on the sofa crossed-legged and furiously typing on a laptop.

“Er, morning?” he greets him when he notices the extra person in the room. “What in seven hells are you doing? Why the fuck are you even awake? Have you slept at all?”

“I’m awake because I should be at work,” Jon grumbles.

“Snow, I really don’t think-” the glare he receives stops him. “Fine,” he sighs, “ok, why aren’t you then?”

“I’ve been told not to go in for at least a week. All because I decided to ask for the inhaler from her instead of going to my place.” 

_Or asking me to fetch it like a sensible human being,_ Theon’s brain notes.

“Do you work together?” Theon asks instead, taking yoghurt from the fridge. As though hiding his face inside an appliance might conceal his curiosity and disguise his digging for information. “She told somebody, huh?”

There’s a funny noise of frustration from across the room that tells him Snow realises his own stupidity. “She _is_ somebody.”

It takes a moment for Theon to figure out just what he’s getting at. “Oh, fuck, Snow.” He’s trying not to laugh, he really is. It’s not even really that funny. “You’re shitting me?”

When he turns to look, Jon has his face, turning beetroot red, buried in his hands. Poor sod. He can’t blame him, not really, he’d have done the same, _has done the same_ , but he suspects that in this case it's come from a place of caring on Val’s part. He doubts he’d ever achieve the same outcome if in the same position. 

“Really? Your boss?” Theon teases and then whistles. “Got some authority kink you want to talk about?”

“Fuck off.”

Theon only laughs at Jon’s pathetic attempts to curse at him and divides the fruit he’s chopped between two bowls and pours yoghurt over each. He grabs a pair of spoons and walks over to join him.

“She’s more… boss adjacent,” Snow admits, looking quizzically at the food when he is offered it.

Theon ignores him for a moment and sits down in the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. “You need to start actually eating something.”

“I do eat,” says Jon, too defensive to believe the words that leave his mouth himself.

“What exactly? When?”

Jon shrugs. “I dunno, whatever I come across.” What he means is he’s living off the contents of vending machines.

“From what I can tell, the most vitamins you get are those added to kids cereals.”

“That’s not true - ” Snow protests feebly.

“If you mention any kind of vitamin supplement I will personally make it my one-man mission to have your medical license rescinded.” He watches Snow relent, smug with himself. 

Jon does however take up the offer of real food and sets the laptop to the chair arm. When he’s about to finish eating, Theon takes his chance to nudge him in the right direction. Robb should see him now. “Snow, I say this in the nicest possible way, you look like shit. Go and get some sleep. At least take the day off, go back to harassing her tomorrow. But, for what it's worth, I think she’s right.”

The spoon clinks in Jon’s bowl when he leans forwards, forearms set against his thighs. He looks up at Theon across the table. “Today, fair enough, but I’m not going to be able to go to work now for at least a week. And I know, I know, it’s for the best, the safest for everyone, it's even possible that it was triggered by a mild infection,” he looks down to the floor with a somber expression, “I know that, but I should be tested, and I won’t be. I’m not going to be able to help, my friends and the other people I work with will be worked harder for it.”

“Snow, you don’t always have to be the hero.”

“Doing my job isn’t heroism. They call us that to justify the deaths.” He stands and walks across the small space to the kitchen. Theon has irritated him, he can tell as much, but the anger isn’t directed at him. “And, I know, she did the right thing. Even if it wasn’t for all of _this,_ ”he gestures to the world, the invisible crisis that hangs around them at every moment, “she’d have still not wanted me at work…” 

There’s the proof of what he’d suspected. She cares.

Jon washes his dishes looking like the walking dead, Theon half expects him to fall asleep at the sink, and leaves Theon to get on with his work.

* * *

“ _You look terrible_ ,” Wex signs, sitting in front of a bookcase stacked with DVDs.

“ _Piss off,_ ” Theon returns though he knows he’s right.

“He’s not wrong,” chimes in Kyra. She can hardly talk, they’ve all come a long way from ‘dress how you do for work’. Ok, so she’s by no means looking ‘terrible’. There’s just been a transition between the pristine makeup and curled hair of week one to her hair looped on top of her head and the oversized hoodie she’s currently sporting. He’d place money on her being in pajama bottoms. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Ooo-eer.” Kyra grins and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “No, but, seriously, are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry. Snow wasn’t well in the night.”

He watches as both his friend’s eyes flick to different parts of the screen, he suspects they look for each other's reactions, they are both clearly trying to keep straight faces.

“ _Did you play doctor to the doctor?_ ” It's Wex that asks but they both laugh.

“Wex!” Kyra shakes her head. “Just hold your horses, before we get into that - because we are going to get to that - is he alright?”

“Just shattered, mostly, and, no, _he had one come over_.” He aims to make a face that reads ‘so you need not speculate about the pair of us more’, but, seeing it himself, that is not how it reads.

Kyra frowns a little. “What?”

“ _A friend from work came over with an inhaler of his from her place._ ” He raises his brows to let them know he’s putting an emphasis on ‘her place’.

“ _Girlfriend?_ ” Wex asks.

Theon shrugs. “Something of that ilk, _hot, older._ ”

Kyra chuckles. “Which one are you jealous of?” She asks with a wink.

“Fuck _, her._ ”

Kyra squeals, actually squeals, and drums her hands on the table her laptop is on causing the video to shake. “I fucking told you so!” She’s been deprived of all the gossip with them not being at work, and it shows.

“Alright, alright,” Theon groans, “ _can we not turn this into something it's not, please?_ ”

Wex smirks, twirling a pen in his hand despite there being no signs they are about to discuss work _._ The way he manages to keep it there in some form while he signs is a feat in itself. _“What is it then?”_

“ _It’s been 4 weeks, a month, and there is a relatively attractive, albeit sullen, individual swanning around my flat._ ”

Kyra’s disbelief is written all over her face. “Relatively?”

“ _He’s not really my type._ ” He signs, in all honesty. 

“Pray, tell, what is your type?”

Theon brings a finger to his lips, shushing her on the off chance Snow is still awake. She knows very well what he ordinarily goes for, and it is generally not lean younger men that can’t take a joke. 

“Sorry,” she fake grimaces while trying not to laugh. “ _Well… You haven’t always followed that pattern._ ”

“No, and look where that got me,” Theon points out.

“Honey,” her face softens, it’s rare that he brings up Ramsay, “ _he doesn’t seem like that_. _Is that what’s stopping you from making a move?_ ”

Is it? Truth be told, there has been a part of him that has come to avoid men again. “No, no, _I know he’s not_ , and it doesn’t matter because it's not like that.” He just really wants to jump him, not have some relationship, and that’s the problem at the heart of it. That’s what he’s been avoiding more than anything, not that that’s much of a change from before, but there had previously been more of an inclination to have what he’d vaguely describe as a current favourite. Kyra would say the flavour of the month. “ _Anyway, he could be straight for all we know._ ” 

The memory of Jon against the rocks, that look in his eyes, comes to mind, and calling him straight seems far-fetched. You don’t get that heat from a Kinsey scale 0. Still, everyone can do stupid things in the moment and it’s not like he’s not met men who are flexible when the right one comes along at the right place and time. And being on the rebound will do strange things to a person.

* * *

Later that afternoon, when he gets back from the regularly scheduled exercise, he spots Snow laid out across his bed on his front with a book in hand through the small gap of the door slightly ajar. 

Theon knocks and pushes the door open tentatively. “Hey,” he smiles, aiming for polite but he knows, _he knows_ , that it's the well-practiced charming smile he does when he wants something, or someone, and takes off his earphones.

Jon turns to lay on his side, head propped up on his hand. He has a tank top on, the hint of a tattoo just visible as it creeps onto his shoulder and round his side, far too much of which is on display. Theon rarely sees Jon in clothes that are not meant for either work or sleep. His suggestion to put Snow in his work does not seem near so absurd. 

“Sorry, is the music too loud?” Snow jumps to conclusions, already reaching for his phone to cut the volume. “I can turn it down?”

“No.” Why does Snow have the tendency to irritate him over the stupidest of things? “No, you’re fine. But, listen, it doesn’t look like this is going to change any time soon, and you can’t spend another three weeks hidden in here. Especially if you aren’t working for a week. It’s bad enough being confined to the flat. I’m not going to bite if you come and sit in the other room.” _Unless that’d be something you’re into. “_ I know I’m not your first choice of person to be quarantined with, I can’t imagine I’m anyone's first choice, but,” Drowned God, someone put him out of his misery, “well, you know.” Maybe it’s better than nothing.

Despite Theon’s awkward rambling, Jon simply says, “ok.”

“Ok?” It makes the whole ordeal seem pointless now. Like he ought to have just said ‘Snow, stop hiding in your fucking room, it's driving me to distraction’ as he’d wanted to in the first place. He’s rehearsed this little speech to himself while out and it still came out like word vomit.

Snow shrugs, emphasising the muscles around his shoulders. “Yeah, ok, if you’re sure.”

He neglects to point out that he wouldn’t have said if he wasn’t sure.

* * *

When Theon has showered and dressed, he finds Jon to have already migrated to the shared space. Snow sits curled up on the sofa, one knee drawn up under his chin where it is used to rest his free hand, a finger running across his lips as he reads, brows furrowed. He’s now got a pair of headphones on and doesn’t appear to hear Theon come back in and sit at the table.

This is prime work time, the time he’s most productive aside from the night when he should be sleeping. What he hasn’t told Snow is just how beneficial that night had been, and not just because he now has the materials to work with. Only, working with Jon in the room is harder than he’d imagined. He finds himself glancing over now and again when he looks up from what he’s doing, and more than once he catches his new roommate looking his way too, though neither of them acknowledge it.

“What are you doing?” Jon breaks the silence, setting his book down on his chest now that he’s laid on his back, having chased the dying light from the window. 

Theon pushes back his chair for Snow to stand next to him. “Why don’t you come and take a look?” 

Snow hovers by him as he looks over the sketches. There’s a vague recognition on his face that the model looks suspiciously familiar. His fingers touch the designs as tenderly as they had the lines out in the hallway. “These are yours?” 

He’d love to set his hand against the small of Jon’s back or hip. He’s well aware that he shouldn’t, but that doesn’t stop the temptation and it doesn’t stop the flutter in his stomach or the pool of heat in his groin.

“No, Snow, I’m just sat here pretending to draw someone else's work.”

“Fine, whatever,” Jon huffs and turns to walk away.

“Do you ever not take offence?” He instinctively reaches out and pulls Snow back by his arm and allows his fingertips to breeze over him once he’s released the grip. “Yes, of course they are, who else sees you enough that they wind up unwittingly giving their models your dour face and fluffy hair.”

Snow raises his eyebrows and looks away from the artwork to Theon himself. “That doesn’t look like my hair,” he notes.

“... not the hair you’re sporting currently, no,” Theon grins up at him, purposefully nipping his lower lip. As Jon doesn’t immediately react, he holds up his fingers and mimes snipping. 

Snow bats away the hand. “No,” he says, but there's little conviction in his voice.

“Come on.” Shit, his hand has found Snow’s hip instead, he can’t fucking help himself. He cocks his head to the side. “You telling me this doesn’t look good?”

“When I get a shirt that looks like that, I’ll consider it.”

“Funny you should say that, hang there a moment.”

He returns with what has been his own little private project. It’s been hard without the large worktable, but he’s made do. It feels exciting to finally reveal them to someone. Ordinarily he’d have Kyra and Wex’s eyes on whatever he was doing and their opinions to help guide him and cheer him on. He lays the designs out onto the table, more nervous than he's been since art school. Stylised shells merge together into a pattern rendered in batik. He’s used a combination of teal, coral, and blue to fill the shapes. It's so easy these days to design digitally especially with a fabric printer on hand, it's been a while since he used a more traditional technique. 

It’s eccentric, it’s bold, Baelish will hate it with every fibre of his being, but it’s what’s been needed to inject a bit of extra vibrance into this new life.

“Still interested?”

Snow’s eyes are blown wide. Theon’s stomach drops. He knows they’re a little ‘more’ in real life and it's probably a bit much for Jon.

“They’re amazing,” Snow breathes, “I can’t believe you…” he takes his eyes from the drawings and fixes them on Theon. “You did this here?” Theon refrains from another sarcastic comment, if only because the praise and proximity are doing things for him. “I’m not convinced I can pull this off.”

Theon holds up his sketches. “I disagree.” Snow’s pensive look and a utilitarian cut in contrast with the pattern is what’s going to make it work. Jon’s eyes move between him, the sketch, and the fabric repeatedly as he considers it. “I’m relentless, remember?” Theon reminds him, echoing back his own words. There’s some recognition to that in those greys. “So, how about it?” 

Theon can see the internal struggle playing on Snow's face. It’s the look he gets when he knows he’s being a spoilsport but he can’t get past himself, the need to keep up this facade.

“Alright.”

An hour later and he’s taken Snow’s measurements, which was an experience in itself - trying to contain himself as he wrapped a tape measure around him, mocked up the patterns, and is setting about cutting out the pieces. For now, he’s using the ones not quite up to his standard for the final designs. He needs these to be able to get the fabric produced en masse if required. Shirts can be difficult and the gods know he can’t use his left hand as he once could, but this one is more straight cut than he’s used to, and the patterns allow for some imperfection. 

“Sushi?” Snow suddenly asks from his position now sat at the foot of the sofa where he plays a game on the tv, as though it's a perfectly normal thing to just ask out of nowhere.

“Excuse me?”

“It's 6 o’clock, we haven’t eaten yet, that family run restaurant round the corner is doing a set menu to order, and from what I remember, you like fish. So, would you like me to order sushi? Is that good with you?”

“Sounds good.” There appear to be clear advantages to encouraging Snow to look after himself. Theon’s taken aback by his decision to suggest something Theon might particularly like, gone it seems are the days when they’d pick differing food choices to dig at each other only to me outnumbered by the Stark popular vote anyway. So taken aback that he declines to tell Jon he hasn’t eaten white rice since Robb left. “You know, I already know how you’re repaying my kindness though, right, Snow?”

Snow snorts. “I assumed using me for dress up would be enough.” He has no idea of the extent to which Theon would like to play dress up with him. He pulls his eyes away from his phone screen to meet Theon’s. The food is outside of the favour for favour arrangement they have going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for reading and bearing with me and these idiots!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm impatient and AO3 is taking years to send out notifications... so here you go.
> 
> Um, enjoy (I hope)

The food arrives right when Theon needs it. Having begun construction of the shirt, he’s at the stage where he’s realised the continued effort needed to complete it and that he’s especially not looking forward to creating the buttonholes. He’d have often passed something like this over to Wex to get on with, but that’s not currently a goer. All ideas that he’s going to triumph over it tonight vanish when he sits on the floor across the glass coffee table from Jon, and Jon reveals a bottle of liqueur and two ice filled glasses.

“Snow,” he says, voice flirtatious, and wiggles his eyebrows at him for good measure, “are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Wishful thinking. I’m just using it to cope with you,” Jon retorts, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Theon laughs and takes the drink being offered to him, letting their fingers overlap briefly. “You’re so fucking rude to me.”

Watching Snow struggle with chopsticks is almost as good as the food itself. “I’m rude to you?” Jon asks when he catches Theon smirking as the squid nigiri between the sticks in his hands keeps falling apart. His foot kicks playfully at Theon’s knee under the table. It would’ve been a whole lot harsher in the past, intending to hurt, and it wouldn’t have lingered. How much more of this can he cope with before he gives in to this hunger in him left unsated by the food? He’s intoxicated with lust as much as the drink when he stares openly at Jon, cold glass at his cheek as if to remind himself there’s a world out there. One with consequences.

“So, tell me about her.” He’s playing with fire. It’s one thing to jokingly flirt with him and another to discuss love lives. 

Snow flushes, busying himself with the food by dipping a maki roll in soy sauce. He’s using his hands now and unwittingly sucks the tip of his thumb at the end.

“There’s not much to tell,” he admits after he finishes the mouthful with a lazy shrug.

“Didn’t feel like riding this out together?” Theon probes. “Seems like it’d’ve been more fun than being stuck here.”

“She, um,” Snows sighs heavily and takes a drink, “she didn’t feel it was ‘appropriate’.” He makes quotation marks with his free hand.

“Shit, well, that’s her loss.”

Snow lifts his eyebrows at him questioningly. Fine, he might have done the same if he was in the same position. To be honest, he’s not sure what he would’ve done when faced with risking an implied more serious relationship. But lockdown would be a whole lot more fun with someone up for making the most of being stuck inside if they were able to keep it casual. 

“How about you? Are you with someone?” Jon asks, suddenly very interested with the nori on a roll. “You have enough calls, I assume there’d be someone you could’ve shacked up with?” 

_The longest relationship I’ve been in in months has been with that photo of you and my fist._ “No one special.” Theon pauses, watching Snow closely for a moment, he must sense eyes on him, because he looks up and meets his eyes. Something in him feels like opening up, just a touch. “I got out of a relationship, a while back.” He moves the glass in his hand, twirling his wrist and watching the hypnotic spin of the ice. 

Snow attempts to read his expression and sits forwards slightly, drawing one leg in until his knee is up by his chin, but the other’s toes are still just about against Theon’s own. He misses the mark in multiple ways when he asks, “do you miss her?”

“Him.” Theon corrects, meeting Jon’s dark grey eyes with purpose before he looks back to the ice as it melts and spills water into the syrup drink. “Sometimes, I think I might,” he muses, “but no. It wasn’t… It wasn’t particularly healthy.” What an understatement.

“Sorry,” Jon says ruefully, looking downcast as he too stares into his empty glass and the hands that hold it.

“Don’t be,” he smiles softly with a small huff. “It’s not your fault.”

Jon uncrews the bottle cap and pours himself out more of the drink. “I asked.”

Poking one of the ice cubes down, Theon shrugs. “It is what it is. So,” anything to move them on, “has this thing been going on a while?” he asks and brings his finger to his mouth to lick them clean. Ok, so there might be an ulterior motive.

“On and off,” says Snow, gaze still on Theon’s finger at his mouth and moving his head to either side as he says it. “I knew what I was doing, I guess, but I…”

“You… ?” Theon encourages him on. 

Jon huffs out a small laugh below his breath in spite of himself. “I have a habit of falling for people out of my league.”

“Snow, don’t get me wrong, because fuck me, I was not expecting that at 3 am outside my door, but you’re talking shit.”

“No,” insists Snow miserably, “I’m really not.”

“Yeah, you fucking well are, numpty. If she was out of your league you wouldn’t have stuff in a drawer there. This whole self deprecating thing you’ve got going on isn’t attractive though,” he winks to take the edge off, “I’d work on it.”

“I’m being serious,” Snow looks him in the eye. “I don’t know how many times I have to go for someone older, hotter, more experienced, who clearly doesn’t want the same thing, before I can realise it just isn’t worth it. Such a fucking idiot.”

“I think we need to get you off the booze, you’re doing all the insulting for me, it’s taking all the fun out of it.”

Snow shakes his head disapprovingly, but stretches his leg further and flexes his foot against Theon’s thigh. He’s playing casually with his hair, arm up on the sofa behind him. Drowned god help him, Theon can’t bear it any more, his hand reaches out to the exposed skin at his ankle. His touch is soft but electricity buzzes under his skin.

 _So, what is it you want?_ “You serious about her then?” He should not have this much vested interest in the answer.

“I thought I was,” he chews his lip, his fucking perfect rosey bottom lip, “but I suppose this whole thing puts things in perspective, you know?”

Theon nods in agreement. “Mmmm, yeah.” Who’d have thought he’d wind up having a drunken heart to heart with Snow on his living room floor, much less with this foot inducing a lewd madness within him. Ok, in truth, it's not the foot. It's the effortless grace and poise with which he moves. Gods, it's that wistful look he gets in his dark eyes, the way his lips beg for it to be kissed away. Jon is mad if he truly doesn’t realise how attractive he is. But the foot isn’t helping. And yet, he wishes it were a few inches to the left.

Jon’s voice brings him back. “What are you thinking about?”

Fuck, what is he thinking about? The best way to get across this bloody coffee table without breaking whatever _this_ is. “Sometimes, we just need a bit of hindsight, I suppose. Or time away maybe.” 

“I wish time was always the answer,” Jon mutters tragically.

“Oh, Snow, don’t go all mopey on me now,” he chuckles and pats Jon’s leg affectionately a couple of times before he moves it to get past.

Theon gets to his feet and makes the short trip to the freezer for ice. There’s a haze surrounding him, the world frozen bar the space directly ahead and Jon arching his back as he stretches, arm reaching over his head and onto the sofa behind. There are two incredibly suggestive messages waiting for him on his phone from Ros but he barely gives them a second glance. On his return, he sits down beside Jon and distributes some of the ice cubes from the retrieved tray between their glasses. 

“I broke it off with her,” Jon comes out with suddenly while the ice clinks down, a hand covers half his face like he can’t believe what he’s done.

“You did? When?” This is a surprise. He makes the executive decision to carry on looking ahead towards the TV and its black screen.

“This afternoon….” Theon can sense Jon turning to look at him, he’s so close that he can feel the heat of his breath against his cheek, “when you went to shower.”

He smirks into his drink and throws his arm back onto the sofa’s seat behind him where Snow’s elbow is still perched. His fingertips trail softly back and forwards along the exposed skin of his bicep, edging a little further back each time.

“I always imagined you’d get a lone wolf or something,” Theon says, nodding vaguely towards the tattoo. “What is it? Some sort of bird?”

Jon jokes, “is this your way of getting my top off, Greyjoy?”

“Well, I’m not going to stop you,” Theon admits, but Jon chooses to pull back the arm hole to give him a better look. “A raven?”

“Crow,” corrects Jon with a hint of the smugness he’s come to know from him. 

Privately, Theon wonders the difference. “Is that good luck or bad luck?” he asks and takes a sip of his drink.

“It’s whatever you want to make of it.” 

Theon really hopes he’s not misreading this or the look on Snow’s face.

He’s going to hold out a little longer, because going for it and being rejected is far worse than living with the morning after should his interest be returned. “You don’t strike me as someone who gets tattoos without some meaning behind it.”

“I never said there wasn’t.” 

There’s a little joy in seeing Jon choose to play difficult with him, he’s missed it.

“Go on.” Theon nudges him gently. 

“Have you ever…” a pause, “No telling anyone about this conversation…” he waits for Theon’s confirming nod but it's still not good enough, “no, nevermind.”

“Snow!” Theon cries and shakes his arm jovially, getting a good feel in the process.

“I don’t know,” he gnaws again at the lip before letting it slide slowly from between his teeth, “you ever had a moment where you thought you might… that that might have been the end?” 

Theon assumes he means the end to him and his life. “Yeah,” he replies, easing up the grip to be able to give a reassuring stroke of his thumb. This has turned unexpectedly morbid. How the fuck does he bring it back?

Snow wets his lips and all either of them seem able to do is nod with some strange understanding of a life lived since they last had much to do with one another, and he’s overcome with a need to close the gap and fill in the blanks.

“It…. gods, this is such a cliche…” a self deprecating laugh escapes Jon, “somehow some things just seemed clearer. I don’t know… ”

“No,” Theon tells him gently, “I understand.”

“I didn’t want to forget that feeling.”

Theon finishes the thought for him, it's not a question. “No matter the pain.”

“...Yeah,” Jon’s eyes carefully search his face and his brows bunch just a little, a question within.

“Can I see it?” asks Theon, needing to break with this topic before he crumbles. “Properly?”

Jon sets his glass down on the table top and pulls his top over his head but not the entire way off. Instead, it covers only the front of his torso. He faces away from Theon to allow him to get a better look.

Theon’s finger carefully maps the feathers of the bird’s wing that wraps around him; when he feels the scar tissue disguised by one, he strokes it. Drawn by compulsion, his lips follow. He feels Jon shiver and exhale a pent up breath beneath their light touch. The second he moves away, Snow has turned to face him. Their hot breaths mingle, noses giving the briefest of touch.

“We shouldn’t,” Theon whispers against his lips to give him the opportunity to pull away and end it. He knows he’s not going to. He’s too far gone.

Jon looks from his eyes to Theon’s mouth and back again. “No.” He seems as unconvinced by their words as Theon, reluctant to break away and on the edge of a kiss.

“Terrible idea,” he reasons as he places his forehead against Jon’s. 

“The worst,” Jon agrees, nose nudging his own.

He’s not sure which of them says the metaphorical ‘fuck it’ to the world, only that in that moment the impending cataclysm seems like nothing in comparison to the thirst and the sensation of Snow’s lips against his own. Jon’s hands are already reaching for him, echoing his own desperation, unable to bear more of a delay, clutching at his shirt and threading their fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know where one touch ends and another begins.

His body chases after Jon’s when he falls back onto the carpet, in the gap between settee and coffee table, and he pulls the top from Jon’s arms. His frame is hot and hard beneath him, but welcomes him eagerly, knees parting with enthusiasm at the nudge of Theon’s own. Snow’s mouth tastes like the plum wine, the sweetness still lingers on his lips, but the kiss is no longer as sweet and tender as the one Theon placed at his shoulder. It is all-consuming. Harsh and needing.

When Theon bites at the plump lower lip, Snow whines and bucks beneath him, pursuing the friction from his thigh. He’s achingly hard. Is that the weeks without another body or is this specific one that’s doing this to him? He tries to remember wanting anyone quite so much while Jon moves to kiss along his collarbone, fumbling with Theon’s belt buckle.

He buries his face in Snow’s neck as he waits for Jon to conquer it; the smell of him is overwhelming. The pounding of his heart is echoed by Jon’s racing pulse against his lips. He wants to whisper into his ear but the words fail him. Having successfully opened the belt, undone the button and the zip, Jon’s hands delve down the back of his jeans, blunt finger nails dig into his arse, encouraging the rocking of his hips. Released from the tighter constraints, all that remains between his erection and the flat plains of Snow’s stomach so alien to him is the thin cotton of his boxers. Normally, he’d not tolerate such a thing, and he truly does long for more, but after all the temptation just this is enough to send him wild.

Theon’s hand is in Jon’s hair clutching a handful of soft curls while Snow kisses eagerly at his neck. The burn of the carpet at his knuckles and forearm is nothing in comparison. His free hand moves to palm Snow’s crotch over the soft jogging bottoms. Jon keens at his touch and moves against him. Fucking hell.

“Snow,” he whispers in coltish tones.

Jon murmurs against his skin, the vibrations run through him. “Mmmm?” 

“You’re not wearing any underwear.”

“That’s very observant of you.” He sounds so blase about it that Theon has to wonder if he goes commando often. It puts all those drawstring and elasticated pajama bottoms into a new light. 

Before he can question further, Jon has reclaimed his mouth. His movements have a new level of urgency to them. Fingers leave his backside to slide through the gaps between his shirts buttons, but the noises leaving Jon suggest he no longer quite has it in him to work with the intricacies of clothing. Instead, he hitches the whole thing up to be able to run his palms over Theon’s stomach and back until they clutch his waist and they are skin against skin. Snow could pull the thing apart and he wouldn’t give a fuck.

Theon pulls back, watching Jon’s dark eyebrows furrow and his eye’s hold his own while he moves against him. It feels wrong, it's going too far to be watching him, but he can’t look away. Snow’s mouth gapes and he throws his head back, finally breaking away, and Theon kisses his long neck while he feels Jon’s body convulse beneath him. With weeks of pent up desire, it’s not longer after that he succumbs to his own pleasure. 

Dazed and trembling in a way that he can’t even remember, once he has deemed himself recovered enough, he rolls off Jon carelessly, hitting the coffee table’s steel leg in the process.

“Shit,” he mumbles, but it's not about the bruise developing on the back of his head. He looks at Jon, waiting for a reaction, but the younger man stays staring determinedly at the ceiling, his belly shines in the lamplight with the remnants of cum from Theon’s underwear. “Hey, are you alright?”

“I shouldn’t have- We shouldn’t have-” He brings both his hands to his face. “Fuck.”

“We can say one of us kept it in his pants at least?” Theon smirks at his own joke and decides to clarify when he gets no response. “You know - because you aren’t wearing any.” Snow’s fist immediately strikes his stomach. “Oof,” he groans, mostly at the shock factor, but Jon doesn’t give him a second look when he pulls himself up using the sofa as leverage. “That’s fine, you take first use of the shower,” he calls derisively after him. He watches him wipe up some of the mess with his top, pulling on the elastic of his trousers, but declining to take these off too, and chuck it into the washing machine. Jon refuses to look at him the whole time he remains in the room.

The room spins around him. Shit. What have they done? 

At least they didn’t fuck though, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested - I posted an 80s Throbb pride one shot, ['Soul, I hear you calling'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595288), last night 🌈


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks, posting a little early as I am still ahead and have only a couple of chapters left to write (and a little epilogue!). I have upped the rating, this chapter is bordering on E, but it's needed for later chapters. If anyone who was reading before this change has an issue then let me know, I have a contingency plan.

His head throbs with an agonising headache on waking in the morning. What on earth was he thinking? He pulls the duvet up over his head as though he can wish the world away a little while longer. If he can’t see it, it doesn’t exist to haunt him. But that's a lie, Jon is on the other side of the wall, unseen but very much there. He’d try to force himself back to sleep again, but his alarm reminds him that Baelish will be expecting him alive and in front of his laptop screen shortly. You can’t wear sunglasses for a web meeting… can you?

Theon forces himself out of bed, into the shower, manages not to vomit while he brushes his teeth, which is a triumph in itself, and makes it to catch up with Kyra and Wex who simultaneously find his appearance hilarious and concerning. It’s 5 minutes in when he pushes his hair back from his face and they both burst into laughter as they realise the level of denial he is in telling them he’s just hungover.

Kyra grins and strokes her red painted fingers on the side of her neck. “You’ve got a little something here.”

Theon turns on his phone camera and angles himself to be able to see that side of his neck on the screen. He groans. What fucking luck. That stupid bastard has left him with what has to be one of the biggest love bites he’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot. Thank the gods it wasn’t someone like Robb or Asha… or, mother have mercy, Davos, that’s spotted it first. His eyes close as he thinks back on the lips that have left him a rich purple, it's enough for his dick to show unwelcome interest. How is he going to live like this?

He chucks his phone carelessly onto the dining table and buries his head in his hands.

“Babe!” Kyra cries faux dramatically, trying not to laugh. “It’ll be ok.”

“Will it though?” He snaps at her. “Will it?”

“Sure, I mean,” she shrugs, “these things clear up fairly quickly, also, I know you keep concealer in your bathroom cabinet.”

“Ky!” yelps Theon. “Not helpful.” He’s not about to tell her it's a good idea. The last he wants is people deliberating whether he’s breaking lockdown rules or getting it on with his roommate who he’s told them all he hates.

“ _Do you want to tell us about it_?” Wex asks when Theon looks up from the palms of his hands.

He tries to keep his face straight. “Nothing happened.” It does not sound convincing, even to his own ears.

Pressing on, Wex arches an eyebrow. “ _Nothing_?”

He huffs. “Ok, fine. We kissed,” 

“Right… a kiss,” says Krya, voice dripping with sarcasm. Wex snorts. How does she do this? Oh yeah, because they’ve ‘been there, done that’.

“We got off,” he concedes, “that’s all.” That’s not lying is it? It’s an ambiguous term. They did get off. You could also argue they got each other off, but they don’t need to know that. It’s not like they shagged or anything. Trivial details.

He’s in the bathroom 10 minutes later, peering in the mirror and dabbing the tattoo and scar cover up concealer that Kyra was right to assume he owned for just such occasions onto his neck in preparation for the next meeting to save some of his dignity, when the door handle pulls down and half stumbles in Snow. For one heart-stopping moment, he stands frozen, bar his eyes which drift from Theon’s neck to his lips. Part of Theon imagines, fantasies, that the cover up might be taken from his hands, a thumb might wipe at the make up already applied as he is backed up against the sink. A hot mouth giving one to match on the opposite side for the audacity that he might choose to hide its work, stubble against the sensitive skin. 

Instead, Jon says nothing. Does nothing about it. He backs out of the room without a word. 

Theon could reach out after him, could ask him to stay.

“I’ll just be a minute,” is what he says.

“Whatever,” is the cold response, “take your time.”

“Snow!” Theon calls out after him and immediately follows with a calmer, “Snow, wait.”

Jon rolls his eyes at him, crossing his arms across his chest.“What is it, _Greyjoy_?” 

He’s fixating on the flex of those muscles now. This is not a good place to be for this discussion. “Last night was - ”

Jon interjects. “A mistake?” 

“A mistake,” agrees Theon with relief that they are both on the same page. A pleasurable mistake, but one all the same. “We’d been drinking,” he reasons as though he hasn’t thought of it on an all too regular basis. “We’re stuck like this together without other… outlets. Let's just forget about it? It was just a kiss, right.”

Snow swallows audibly and gives a shallow nod. “Just a kiss,” he says with a sigh. Theon catches his eyes sneaking a sly look to the love bite at his neck before he brings his hand up to cover and rub his face.

“Sorry,” Theon follows up, “I just get a bit handsy when I drink.” Handsy. That’s what he’s calling it, as though it wasn’t his lips against the skin he had encouraged him to show that started the whole fiasco.

“Then maybe you should lay off it,” Jon snarls at him, dropping his arms and turning once more.

“Oh, I’m sorry, because you played no part in it?” quips Theon with a raised brow and a smirk tugging at his lips. He watches as Snow’s fists clench, knuckles turning white, but it only serves to amuse him further. Jon is like a taut bowstring that he wants to pull at until it has no choice but to protest. 

Before he leaves, he glances back over his shoulder, but there is no coy flirtatious banter this time, only a looming storm in those dark eyes and a “Fuck off.” 

This is the Snow he remembers. 

There’s a slam of the bathroom door, followed by that of the bedroom, and Theon exhales. He runs the cold water tap and splashes the icy contents over his face as he tries to come down and slow his racing heart. Drowned fuck, this is not the sweeping under the carpet he was going for. When he’d last been through this there had been no undercurrent of lust cursing from him, no desire to release the string himself rather than let it snap.

He looks at himself in the mirror, watching the water drip down his face, and presses experimentally on the bruise to feel the pain of his own making beneath his fingers, as he lets his forehead fall against the cool glass. 

* * *

There’s nothing left to do besides avoid each other as best as possible and leave passive-aggressive notes around the flat. After that one afternoon Snow no longer uses any communal area while Theon is there. When it comes to grocery shopping day he has left him a list on the counter and the money in advance. There’s a ‘Jon’ written at the end, like it’s possible someone else might have left it. Unlikely, even setting aside that no one else has been in the flat for weeks; it’s full of convenience food and oddly specific requests.

Shopping these days is an ordeal, he almost regrets having insisted that he be the one to do it. It’s wall to wall stress, keeping to the markers and not being able to turn back on himself if he forgets something. And he knows if that should happen he’s going to have to queue and go right the way through the supermarket again if it's something that Jon has asked for or he’ll have hell to pay. In truth, it's a little tempting to see if that would bring him out of this silent treatment he’s engaging with. 

The choice is made for him when he comes to stand at the haircare shelves. An old biddy is getting cross with him for taking his time and not moving on, but he couldn’t care less. Should he try to pick something out similar to what is written or leave it? He could always use Theon’s if he’s already run out, and he could try somewhere else next time. What does Snow want with conditioner anyway? The man has short hair.

He leaves it. Whatever he picks won’t be good enough for Jon.

* * *

“Greyjoy!” The shout comes from the bathroom.

It’s time then. He knows what's coming, but despite it all he leaves his room to meet Jon in the hall. 

Theon puts on the most innocent voice he can muster and leans against the wall, taking in Snow's appearance as he does so. “Yes?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Did you not buy the conditioner?” questions Jon, the cuffs of this shirt and belt already open. He already knows the answer though. 

It’s a little hard to take him seriously with half of his chest exposed in the process of undress.

“No,” Theon answers honestly but offers no explanation. 

Snow’s face turns red. “What the fuck?!”

“Chill out,” Theon tells him, waving his hand in downwards motions, “you’ll survive.” This will definitely not result in calming him down.

“I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to you doing the shopping!” shouts Jon. “It was only a matter of time before you did something spiteful.”

“Spiteful?!” Theon counters angrily. He doesn’t do anything out of spite.

“As soon as you don’t get something you want you just turn on people.”

“Oh,” Theon manages a conceited smirk that is bound to rub him in the wrong way, “I think we both got what we wanted.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, would you?! I can’t be doing with this.” He throws his arms up in the air. ”I can’t just have one thing?”

“There were at least fifteen other things on the - “ Theon starts before he is interrupted.

“You’re always teasing me about my fucking hair, of course that’s what you just happened to forget.”

“I didn’t forget it!” Theon snaps. He can see Snow’s logic that this is what he would have gone for, if it had been out of spite. Which it wasn’t, for the record.

Jon’s voice turns nasty. “No, you didn’t, did you?”

“I couldn’t fucking see it, Snow,” he finally admits.

This does nothing to ease Jon’s temper. “Then why would you not ask someone?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it's impossible to when there’s no one around and you’re simultaneously trying to keep 2 metres away from every person in there? It’s just conditioner.”

He watches as Snow’s resolve crumbles the moment he realises Theon is right and can no longer take this out on him. It’s not the conditioner though, is it? It’s not having any control over his life. He’s stuck here living with someone he doesn’t want to be with, he’s not had the opportunity to just go and pick up whatever he wants from a shop in weeks, and now he’s been sat in a room for days by himself now he can’t go to work after Theon did exactly what he said he wouldn’t at exactly the wrong time. Theon chest tightens while Jon’s face contorts. If he leaves it like this he’s going to cry, and he really fucking can’t fucking deal with that.

“Looking good, Snow, by the way,” he says, looking him up and down with a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

Jon reacts quicker even than Theon expects. He takes a firm warning grip at his jaw, but Theon’s smirk only turns smugger. Already more turned on than he’d care to admit, he’s backed willingly up against the wall behind him.

“What now?” he breathes hotly and dips his head to graze his lips against the hand holding him, to which Snow reacts by altering his grip to prevent him doing it again.

His head is turned sharply to the side and Snow drags two fingers over his neck, pressing down on the greening love bite as Theon has done repeatedly over the past couple of days. That’s the only warning he gets before they are replaced with Jon’s mouth. It’s not nearly as doting as it had been the time before. The already tender spot is tormented, he feels the vessels burst under the pressure and the taunting scrape of teeth. 

“Fuck, Snow,” he gasps as knees buckle beneath him. With Snow’s hand still at his chin he can’t even look at him properly. As much he’s enjoying this, he’s not about to hand over all the control. Instead he does what he’d thought Jon might and takes hold of either side of the shirt Jon’s in and pulls, tearing away the buttons and sending them scattering into his line of vision. They run down the laminate flooring towards their rooms, but they themselves are not going to make it there. Hands not needed to hold himself up this time, they take full advantage, and explore the contours of the body before him.

Jon pulls away to admire his handiwork and dips back in to lick and soothe the bruise. It’s after this that he brings Theon’s face back to look at him. With the steel gaze upon him, Theon sucks in his lip, nipping it gently, and lowers a hand until a finger hooks the waistband of Jon’s trousers. He waits for confirmation that this is what Snow wants.

“Undo them,” Jon growls at him. Who is Theon to object? “And your own,” orders him afterward. He removes his hold only to pull Theon’s top roughly up and over his head. “You’re a tease,” he accuses Theon, running hands down his body.

Theon pushes him back the few feet until Jon’s head gives a light thunk against the opposite wall. “You’re a control freak,” he counters, and moves in to bite at and toy with Snow’s lip. He groans when a hand delves under his underwear and cups his cock. “We can do this, can’t we? Have some fun to pass the time?” Please let him want this just as much.

Snow nods as he pushes Theon’s jeans harshly down from his hip. He’s pulled away from Theon’s lips now and kisses down his chest over each ring on the tentacle that wraps over his shoulder, hot tongue gently caressing the scaring, until he reaches his nipple and gives it the same treatment, dragging a whine from him. “I’d have licked salt from every inch of your body that night. If you’d have let me.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a wuss - “ he winces when Jon’s thumb and forefinger pinch the nub sharply. The shock gives Snow the opportunity to get him back up against the wall, kicking the trousers pooled round them on the way.

Theon hands clamber to get Jon’s remaining clothes off, forcing Snow from him momentarily in order to get the shirt from his arms and shoulders. There’s no ability to keep himself restrained left in his body. He delights in the absence of any need to perform.

There’s a pause where they simply take in the sights of one another's bodies. There’s something in Jon’s eyes that tells Theon that he knows the differences in the scarring, just as he can tell the scars on his abdomen and shoulder aren’t neat enough to be surgical incisions. Jon says nothing, but he cradles Theon’s jaw and plunges him into a slow kiss. He’s not felt as seen in a long time.

“I hate that you turn everything into a joke,” Jon says quietly into his mouth once he has released his lips.

“I hate that you can’t take a joke,” retaliates Theon before nipping playfully at Jon’s ear lobe, his hand stroking them both together.

Jon’s wraps round over his, closing the gap between Theon’s finger and thumbs, setting the new faster pace with a firm callused hand. The movements have a new sense of urgency to them, “I hate how you strut around like the cat that got the cream.”

“Do you think this is going to help?” Theon purrs at him. Jon’s arm is braced on the wall by his head, his body presses firm against his. He’d have thought he’d have felt trapped but instead he welcomes it. Jon’s touch is overwhelming. As surprised as he is by this development, Snow is an assured force. He’s protective to a fault, and when push comes to shove, Theon can lay his trust on him. His own hand tangles into Snow’s hair, holding him close.

“I hate what you do to me.”

Through the haze of endorphins, Theon whispers, “I hate that I didn’t do it sooner.” He shouldn’t be feeling this way from a fumble out in the hallway.

Jon carefully strokes the spill of Theon’s black hair back from his face and behind his ear. He says nothing, but there’s a hint of a hidden meaning in those dark eyes. Without a word, he drops to his knees at Theons feet and coaxes a leg over his shoulder. Lips worship his inner thigh, he can barely stand. He’s somewhat aware of a hand holding him back against the wall as a wet stripe is licked towards his groin, but Jon is only just getting started. Cock brushing Jon’s hair, he can’t contain a moan when Jon sucks, painting it to match his throat.

A fresh wave of desire floods him when Jon says, “this one I won’t stand for you covering.” 

He ghosts his lip slowly over the sensitive skin, far too slowly, until he reaches the join of his leg. There, he teases him until Theon’s fingers weave themselves into his hair and give an experimental tug, to which Jon’s eyelids flutter briefly. He might play at being the quiet type, but Theon will have him crying out before lockdown ends.

“Snow, please… “

“What was that?” Jon asks, and when he receives no answer, he chuckles and blows a breath of air over him with puckered lips.

Theon whimpers, biting his bottom lip and looking to the ceiling as he tries to retain his composure. “Please. Just, please. Fucks sake, please.”

Dutifully, Jon drops his jaw, letting Theon see him like that when he looks back, wide mouthed and ready for him, before he takes him into his mouth. The grip in his hair must be harsh, Theon can’t contain himself, but he only moans around his dick with more fervour. Drowned God, he must be well practiced in this, he seems to guess what Theon wants before even he knows himself. He throws his head back, barely able to tolerate the intensity of the way Snow dotes on him, and cants towards him.

“So good, so fucking good, don’t stop, gods, please don’t stop. Snow, your fucking mouth. Your perfect, filthy, filthy, mouth. I can’t - … I - “

Jon murmurs around him in response, one hand supporting Theon’s leg over his shoulder, the other drifting from Theon’s abdomen to allow him more movement, and grips his hip encouraging his thrusts.

“Snow - I’m going… I’m going to - ,“ he warns him, his fingers massaging his scalp, but Jon only hums and works some more magic with his tongue until he spills, crying out and holding back a ‘ _Jon’_.

Snow sets his trembling leg back onto the floor and sits back onto his heels momentarily. His hands stroke Theon’s thighs as he comes down from the dizzying heights of the high until Theon has it in him to take them and help him to his feet. He stumbles into Theon, burying his face into Theon’s neck and wanking frantically against him.

“That was… it was so fucking hot,” Theon whispers into the shell of his ear, and drags his thumb against his lower lip. “I’m never going to look at your mouth in the same way again.” Snow groans, it puts wind to the sail. “I wonder just how dirty you can get.” Snow’s mouth crashes into his, and manages a rough kiss, before he gives up and rests his forehead against Theon’s, breath hot and heavy between their open mouths. His eyes flicker up to look Theon in his own just briefly before they close and he shudders against him, reaching his climax.

It’s Jon that breaks the silence with a joke this time after they recover. “You owe me a new shirt,” he deadpans.

Theon smiles against Jon’s shoulder and resists a kiss, sweat matted hair around him. “Funny you should say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Next chapter has more side characters again, including Jeyne - who we love dearly - and some of the Night's Watch boys 💜


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm mid writing the last chapter, so I'll probably be posting twice a week from now on. 
> 
> I honestly can't believe I started posting this over a month ago like 'I want to start posting this before lockdown ends'... yeah, I'm going to have completed this before that happens.

“I’m off out,” Theon calls out to Jon the next day, pulling on his leather jacket by the door and feeling the pocket in it for the telltale shape of the packet.

“See you later,” shouts Jon back at him from the living area, a hint of amusement in his voice. Perhaps he finds it as odd as Theon does that he now lets him know his whereabouts.

He smiles to himself and puts in his earphones, opening the door and leaving the flat. It’s a short walk to the nearby park, but noisy considering everyone’s supposed to be in lockdown, so he waits until he passes the gates to call Jeyne for what has replaced their weekend lunch.

“It felt nice at first,” Jeyne says with a sigh, five minutes in, “you know? I dreamt of this? For the world just to _stop_. Did you feel like that?”

“Sometimes,” he admits, walking past one of the fountains covered in birds, and fishing a packet of rolling papers and tobacco from his pocket, “but mostly it felt like I needed the chaos to keep me from thinking too much, to knock me out at night.” To save him staying awake with memories and worries or the nightmares.

Jeyne hums. “I get that… how are you now?”

Honestly, not as bad as he could be, but he’s still chasing any rush he can. He knows he shouldn’t be smoking, that he’s led Robb and others to believe he no longer goes near cigarettes, but it's not entirely accurate. Especially not since life turned upside down again. At least he’s only doing it outside?

“I’m alright,” he answers. 

He is, mostly. Had someone asked him how he’d imagine he would cope under these circumstances a year ago, he’d have said the same thing, but it wouldn’t have been true. Would it have been true if he was still by himself in the flat? Life would be simpler, but it might be odd being alone for so long. He’s felt lonely most of his life, but he has little experience of being alone day in day out. Sometimes he longed to be alone.

There have been a great many things that have changed over the years. He’d never have expected to be close to someone he first met from a witness box for starters, as he is with Jeyne.

“Just alright?” prompts Jeyne again knowingly.

Now, the ‘mostly’ comes into the mix because he primarily has one thing on his mind that seems to occupy the vast majority of his thoughts these days.

He gives an exasperated sigh and finally says, “I kinda fucked up, J.”

“How so? I expect that's not true.” She always has been too kind.

“I slept with him… sort of.” It feels as though he is admitting this to himself as much as he is to her.

“Jon?” Jeyne asks, just about keeping her voice steady. She pauses, composing herself. “Do you regret it?”

“I don’t know…” He draws a hand across his face. “I can’t get him out of my head. That’s all.” _That’s all_.

“You mean you’re fixating on him,” points out Jeyne, giving him the confirmation of what he already believes. He knows, _he knows_ , there’s the chance his mind has chosen to do this rather than acknowledge the rest of life, but does that really matter? Truth be told, it’s better than the alternatives.

He frowns. “I’m bored. It’s just a bit of fun.”

“Does he know?” 

Theon smirks as makes his way through the rose garden and says within earshot of a middle-aged couple sat on a stone bench already giving him a funny look, “that I can’t stop thinking about fucking him?” They scowl at him crossly, and the woman dressed in a hideous mint green monstrosity even tuts at him.

Jeyne laughs. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, he knows. We have an arrangement I guess.”

“Hmm… that always ends well,” she jokes as he heads out onto the wider avenue in the centre of the park. “And with Jon too… Do you have a death wish? What happens when you move onto something else?”

“Alright, alright!” Theon says. He didn’t tell her to get nagged.

“I guess it's one way of not needing to think,” mutters Jeyne. Hasn’t it always though? 

“Anyway,” Theon says to get away from talking about Snow, “how are you?”

“I’m ok,” she answers relatively brightly. “I’m glad I’m not alone I guess. It’s killing Sansa though. It’s a good job we have a garden. She’s started talking to this guy over next door’s fence, she thinks I don’t know.”

“Sounds like her.” He smiles fondly, but there’s always a pang of sadness in him when anyone tries to discuss the younger Stark siblings with him, and really he hasn’t seen her in so long he now mostly goes off what Jeyne tells him about her.

“Are you eating?” She is the very definition of the mum friend. But if he’d’ve just wanted someone to cheerlead his hedonism he’d’ve called Kyra or Patrek.

“I’m eating better than Snow.” He regrets saying it as soon as he blurts it out. How long was that without bringing him up.

Jeyne laughs. “You’re as bad as each other.”

“Oi!”

“So,” she says, drawing out the o, “how was it?”

“What?” he asks innocently, knowing full well what she means, despite her being too demure to put the words to it ever.

“You know,” she says with an embarrassed ring to it.

He laughs at her shyness before taking a moment to think about it. “Good,” he answers, and bites his lip at just the thought of it. Having reached the benches at the opposite side of the park he takes a seat and sets about rolling up with a distinct feeling of eyes on him.

“Come on,” she encourages him, “you know I live vicariously through you.”

“Fucking Snow?” teases Theon. Licking the strip of gum on the paper, he spots a group of three men, too big to be strictly acceptable to guidelines, milling nearby. Hospital staff from across the road by the looks of it. He doesn’t blame them, they have to be around each other during work anyway. One of the closest, the only one of them not in a uniform, glances across to him.

“Ew!” Jeyne wines. “You know what I mean, and you know I need the gossip.”

“Remind me to introduce you to Kyra when this ends,” he chuckles with mirth, but the prospect of them being able to gang up against him is a little terrifying.

“I’d like that,” she tells him softly.

No stranger to friends expressing a desire to meet her, he smirks. “Mmmm, I bet you would.”

“Theon!” She cries, and he knows she’ll be blushing. “ I just think it would be nice to meet more of your friends.”

“Mmmm, I bet you do.” 

“Stop it, tell me…”

“About fucking Snow?” He asks and she groans at him. “Let's just say he can put his mouth to better uses than that pout he sports.” There’s some foot nudging going on in the corner of his eye while he lights the cigarette.

“Gods!” Jeyne exclaims. “I’m glad I don’t have this on speakerphone.”

“You asked!” he laughs again and brings the fag to his lips for a drag.

“True… “

As Theon blows out the smoke, he catches one of them seemingly checking him out and gives a cheeky wink, but the guy, around his own age, only frowns in confusion. He’s got curls and a beard to rival Robb’s, but they’re as dark as Theon’s own hair. It’s no great loss; though he may be objectively good looking he’s not Theon’s type, but his pride takes a bit of a knock.

“How’s work?”

“Ugh,” is his instant reaction to that question.

“That good, huh?”

“It’s not all bad though, I guess… “ he says thinking about it. “I’ve got a bit of a side project.”

“That’s exciting! When will we get to see it.”

“Soon. Next few days, I hope.” As long as he can persuade Jon to play along. Perhaps he has some methods of persuasion up his sleeve. “Only a preview though.”

She sounds sincere when she says, “I can’t wait.”

“Thanks, I hope you like it.” He smiles, flicks ash from the cigarette, and ignores the nearby chatter. “Are you doing alright?”

“We’re managing, for now,” Jeyne answers. That she doesn’t know how they can last without any money coming in goes unsaid. She and Sansa had only opened a tearoom just last summer. This can’t be a good start to their fledgeling business. He regrets having put off visiting so long, but he struggles with the idea of seeing Sansa after all this time and he’d end up feeling pressured into eating there. “We’ve mostly been playing around with recipes to make it not feel like wasting time… eating way too much cake.” She laughs.

He exhales a breath of smoke just as a familiar looking blonde comes into his vision. 

“Shit.”

“What?” Jeyne asks, her voice full of concern. “Are you ok? Theon?”

“One sec.”

He quickly stubs out the fag on the iron arm of the bench in hope that she didn’t spot him, but it's in vain in a sense. When she walks past the group they all smile politely and say hello to her. It does not bode well for what has been going on over there.

“Theon?” She says in surprise, eventually spotting him sitting there. Her hair is braided on top today but it winds round into a bun.

“Hey.” Drowned god, please let her believe the smell hasn’t come from him. Thank fuck she has to keep her distance.

“How - … “ She plays a little with her lanyard, setting it straight and facing out. “How is he?”

“Pissed off,” he tells her simply with a shrug of one shoulder and crosses a leg over the other, a little awkward about having to raise his voice to speak with her on the opposite side of the avenue. He doesn’t add the ‘with you’. “He’ll get over it.” Maybe he’ll even get over her.

Val nods a little and looks to the side of him, out across the grass, as she contemplates. “Would you tell him to call me?” 

“Sure,” Theon manages. He will, of course, he’s not that terrible, but relief floods over him when she turns to carry on walking past him.

“Oh,” she turns to look back, “and Theon, you better not be doing that in there.” 

He says nothing, but provides a funny look at the level of condescension. He’s not a fucking idiot. 

As he begins to relax, Jeyne’s voice chimes into his ear, “what was that all about?”

“Snow’s… I dunno, ex might be a bit strong.” 

“Ah. Sounded a bit tense,” she empathises.

“She’s alright really, just a bit protective I guess.”

A different voice calls out to him from a few metres away. “Theon?” 

What the fuck now.

“Are you the Theon Jon is staying with then?” Asks one of the guys from the group, dressed in a blue uniform.

He sighs and nods. “Yeah.” All he wanted to do was have a smoke and talk to Jeyne in peace.

The portly man dressed in a black shirt and an almost identical lanyard to Val’s steps forward. He’s a little less confident. “We thought so, but... You know.” 

_It’s rude to eavesdrop?_ Theon’s brain supplies. Then his stomach turns, how much exactly did they hear?

“You look just like you do in the photos,” the one he’d winked at supplies. His uniform is similar but white.

“Photos?” Theon asks and decides to stand up from the bench. They don’t seem like they are going to come and go as quickly as Val and this is clearly not the place to be sat.

“Ah, sorry,” blue uniform guy says. “We stayed with the Starks for a week or so over a summer during uni.”

At first, the panic is alleviated, they haven’t heard him repeatedly talk about fucking Snow, but then he gets to thinking. The Starks have photos of him still? Well, maybe not still. 6 years of med school… Snow must’ve started working a couple of years ago so it's possible they no longer have them.

“Oh, right. Do you work with him still, then?”

“I do. Sam, by the way,” says the man he now assumes is a fellow doctor considering the lanyard and answer. He makes a small movement, like part of him still wants to come forwards and shake Theon’s hand. “This is Satin,” he adds, gesturing to the guy with the curls. 

“I work in the outpatients' radiography department. Not all of us can hang around as students for the majority of a decade like _some_ people,” Satin teases, looking to Sam, and Theon reevaluates his initial dislike following the wink debacle. It also pushes the summer further back in time. 

“Some of us also actually wanted to have fun at uni, unlike those nerds,” the third man laughs, tapping Sam lightly on the leg with his foot in jest. Theon imagines they’d all be messing around more during ‘normal times’.

“As you can imagine, Jon ends up down there a lot,” adds Satin.

 _I can?_ He wonders, managing to keep his smile up.

“And I’m Grenn,” the last of the three introduces himself. “I work on one of the same wards as Jon, as one of the nurses, but at work he’s mostly in a bit of a zone of his own.”

Isn’t he always? It feels like a lot of information to process in comparison to what he gets out of Snow.

“It’s good to meet you all,” Theon says, and it's not a complete lie. Seven fucking hells. 

“Anyway, we had best all get back. Hopefully, we’ll see you once all of this is over… if it's ever over,” Grenn says mournfully. Then they begin to hold up their hands in lieu of full-fledged waves and turn to walk away.

Jeyne clears her throat. “They sounded nice.”

“You still there?” Gods, he sounds like Snow with his stupid inane questions. “Sorry about that, I didn’t realise they were going to tell me their life stories.”

“It’s fine, getting to know your boyfriend’s friends is important,” she taunts him.

“Jeyne! Even if it wasn’t Snow we’re talking about; I don’t do relationships. Shouldn’t do relationships. It’s not how I’m wired. And I’m 100% not keen on having another guy I have to hide from the fam.”

“You can’t base your relationships on what your family will find acceptable, Theon,” Jeyne sighs, bypassing his fear of commitment being as it’s something they’ve been over time and time again. “Besides, they are ok with Asha.”

“You know that’s different,” grumbles Theon.

“Well, it shouldn’t be.”

“That’s Greyjoys for you.”

“Do you think…“ She pauses and Theon waits for her to continue, allowing for her nerves in a way he might not with others. “Do you think you might end up seeing the Starks after all of this?”

“Why would I?” he asks in bafflement.

“I dunno… you’re friends with Robb and now there’s Jon too.”

Theon scoffs. “I wouldn’t quite say friends.”

“ _Please_ ,” Jeyne says and Theon can practically hear her eyes roll, “what are you then? Acquaintances with benefits?” Asha would have said idiots with benefits.

“He’s a hook-up.”

“Right,” she says in a way that means anything but. “Anyway … Sansa suggested it as a possibility the other night.”

He sighs. Talk about guilt tripping. 

* * *

Jon is sat at the dining table eating cereal with his laptop in front of him, and feet up on one of the other chairs when he gets back, because the man is incapable of just sitting like a regular person. There’s music playing from the speaker on the kitchen worktop, but he still has one ear of a pair of earphones in. 

“It’s 4pm. Cereal? Really?”

“I like cereal.” He shrugs. “Out causing a stir, I hear.”

“I enjoy causing stirs,” he says, purposefully honeyed words spilling from his mouth, and gives a pointed look at Jon’s crotch just in case it wasn’t obvious enough what he meant.

Snow rolls his eyes and looks back to the laptop screen and takes a mouthful of cereal, but he has that small smile that plays on his lips when he’s trying not to look too amused by Theon. He glances back up a moment later to find Theon waiting with a wink and covers his mouth with his hand, but his eyes smile, light creases at their corners.

“It’s a good job I had the sense to mute the mic as soon as you came in,” he says once he has swallowed the mouthful. “You can’t be trusted.”

Theon saunters over to him, throwing his keys onto the counter as he goes. “So,” he says, leaning forwards on the tabletop to get as close as possible to the back of the laptop screen, “if I tell you when you roll your eyes at me I just think of you with them rolled back, they can’t hear me, but they can see that look on your face?”

Jon reaches over for a tea towel slung over the back of a chair and swats the side of Theon’s head. After he’s done he pulls it back, but doesn’t lower the hand holding it, warning him he won’t hesitate to go again.

“I yield, I yield!” Theon laughs, pulls himself back up, and holds his hands in surrender. He turns to turn on the kettle with a grin on his face and feels another swat on his backside. “Snow, you are asking for trouble.”

“Like that kind of thing, do you?” Jon asks playfully, holding back from making it sound particularly flirtatious. 

Theon can manage it enough for the pair of them, and so he leans back against cabinets and drawls, “maybe you should find out for yourself.”

“Enough,” Snow tells him, cheekbones pink, “I’m unmuting now, behave yourself and come say hi to the others, they know you’re here.” He assumes Theon will realise he’s talking about the family.

His mouth turns dry. He can’t. Video calls are awful. The idea of seeing the Starks is awful. Combined is just… No, he really can’t. He shakes his head. But, Snow’s face…

“Come on, it's just the kids,” Jon tells him and unplugs the headphones for him to hear them all saying hello.

Sansa cries “Theon!”

“Hi!” come Arya and Rickon’s voices.

“Hey Theon,” says Bran when Theon moves into the webcams field.

“No ones dead yet then?” Robb laughs, hair shining brightly in the sun of his garden.

“Not yet, no,” says Jon, “he’s almost driven me to murder a couple of times though.”

They all chuckle, but they all know that Snow wouldn’t joke about it if they weren’t at least trying to get along.

“Hello everyone,” is all Theon can think to say. “I best - I need a shower,” is the best excuse he can think of to get away. Jon’s finger catches his own under the table when he moves to leave, and he looks up at him with eyes that almost make him cave, but it's not enough. He pulls away from his touch and shakes his head when he’s off-screen. While the other’s say their disappointed goodbyes, he decides to pass on the message. “Val asked after you, she said to call her.”

Snow’s expression shifts to one he struggles to read, somewhere between hurt and confused. He has nothing to feel either of those things about.

“Who’s Val?” asks Sansa as he leaves the room.

“Just a work friend,” Jon replies, but everyone knows first off that the ‘just’ makes it suspect and you’d usually omit the ‘work’ in work friend if it's the kind of friend who you speak to outside of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments. It really helps 😘


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, guys, I just finished the epilogue. I can't believe it's (nearly) over!

Theon comes back to the room an hour or so later and stops in the doorway, eyeing Jon still sat at the laptop warily. He’s not entirely sure what kind of reception he’s going to get after that exit. 

Jon’s lips purse as he resolutely continues to look at the screen rather than acknowledge Theon’s existence. His feet are on the floor now and his body is hunched over, elbows set against the table, and chin settled over clasped hands. Occasionally, one of the hands moves so that he can scroll on the keypad.

Sighing, Theon walks over and closes the laptop on itself, two fingers against the lid. 

The reaction is immediate. Jon starts and throws up his hands. “What the fuck, Greyjoy?”

“Look, I’m sorry, but - “

“If you’re saying but then it's not an apology,” Jon snaps.

“Ok, fine, that’s a dumb rule, but whatever.” He pauses to think before he tries again. “I’m sorry that I can’t be like that with you all.”

Snow refuses to change his tone, remaining indignant about it. “Why can’t you?” 

Theon swallows hard. It takes him a few tries to vocalise it. “I’m not one of you, I never have been.”

“I’m not of them either, Theon,” he says quietly with a heavy sigh and, by the look in his eyes, he means it.

_Theon?_

He hadn’t realised Jon was still hung up on being adopted. “Don’t be stupid, of course, you bloody are. It doesn’t matter who your parents are to them. You’ve all been in each other’s lives since babies. You’re their brother.”

Snow draws a hand slowly across his faces and stays silent. He looks so downtrodden that Theon really has no idea how to proceed.

“I brought you a present?” he says, hoping it will go down well. Jon is at least curious enough to look up, so Theon crosses part of the remaining distance. “I’m going to need you to look less miserable though.”

“I’ll try,” says Snow, “but I can’t promise anything.” 

Theon has to smile at that.

Sitting back in the chair expectantly, Snow swings both arms over the back of it, accentuating his chest. For a moment Theon imagines that he might climb onto his lap, straddle him, and give him an altogether different kind of present to drive away that look. It’s probably unlikely that Jon is quite as keen on sex as a method of therapy as he is though. Most aren’t.

Theon brings out the completed shirt from behind him with a flourish. “Ta da!” he sings, and Snow manages a tiny smile, a little embarrassed about it in a way someone might be when surprised with a birthday cake and people singing to them. He never has been sure quite how to take being the centre of attention.

“Wow, I’m not sure what to say that you won’t pick at,” Jon tells him, which is fair enough really. Jon has him pinned when he calls him contrary. “You’re sure about me wearing this? I mean… it’s not… I don’t think I could do it justice.”

“Well, you better fucking do, it’s made for you. It’s bespoke, Snow. I know you’re a stranger to the concept but - “

“Oh, shut it.” Jon stands up and pulls his t-shirt up and over his head, stretching his body out as he does. He’s got to be doing that on purpose. His trousers sit low on his hips with the band of his underwear just visible, riding just below Apollo’s belt. Jon isn’t particularly big in build, but it's enough for the shallow grooves to show and Theon to feel the effects.

Theon clears his throat and holds out the shirt with a smirk to let Snow know exactly what he thinks to this little show.

“Thanks,” says Jon, taking it from him. 

Once he’s got his arms in it’s already clear that it fits him perfectly, and Theon breathes a sigh of relief.

“Great,” Theon grins and steps forwards under the pretence of making sure it sits just right on him. Then he brings it together, looking down at Snow’s torso, and begins by buttoning a button below the lowest one he’s ever seen Jon leave open before and working down. He can both see and feel the rise and fall of Snow’s chest and how it stops for a couple of seconds when he first gets close and then again when he fixes the last button and tucks the shirt into his trouser and artfully tugs it loose around him. Tongue in cheek, he looks back up for Jon’s reaction.

Jon arches a dark brow. “Pretty sure I’m capable of buttoning up a shirt.”

“You wouldn’t do it right,” Theon tells him and Snow snorts so he goes further with it, setting a finger on Jon’s bare sternum and feels the heart beating below its tip. “I can see your hands twitching to button this up. Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

“I really don’t think I’m a three buttons open kind of guy.”

Theon takes a couple of steps back to appraise him, and then reaches out to unnecessarily smooth down the front. “I beg to differ. Anyway,” he says, not letting Jon argue with him, “you need to get it back off, we aren’t covering it in hair.”

Making a funny little noise in pathetic protest to the idea of a haircut, Jon begins to unbutton the shirt. He turns aways this time to take it off, but it does nothing to prevent Theon, who hadn’t been expecting to be rendered speechless at the sight of Snow’s back that day when Robb called, from ogling him. Afterwards, he takes the time to fold it neatly, which is oddly endearing.

“Come sit,” Theon tells him, shifting one of the chairs out into the middle of the laminate flooring and patting the seat.

Jon looks from him, as though he might possibly refuse, a tiny smile on his face like he can’t believe he’s going to actually do this. While he makes himself comfortable, Theon leaves the room to fetch a towel and a pair of scissors he has for emergency trims from the bathroom. Back in the kitchen, he sources a spray bottle that had once been used for long dead plants. In the meantime, Jon has put on the kitchen radio and is idly flicking through his phone.

Ever a pest, Theon takes this opportunity to dampen Snow’s hair, misting both him and his phone screen.

“Argh,” Jon complains, droplets shining on his hair and eyelashes. He wipes the phone against his jeans, struggling to find them absorbent enough. “Why?”

Theon shrugs. “Fun,” he says simply, and sets the white towel over Snow’s shoulders, failing to mention he’s reluctant to have attention taken from him and given to an electronic device.

He begins slowly, he might do this to his hair but you can only go so wrong on the lengths that brush his shoulders, and normally you’d be able to go to a hairdresser if you fuck up. Plus, there’s that added danger of Snow’s wrath. He hadn’t expected it to feel quite so intimate, taking Jon’s hair between his fingers, hands and arms touching his warm body now and again, just enough to tease him into wanting more. Occasionally, he blows against Snow’s neck to clear the cut hair, mostly to watch how he then shifts his hands to his lap each time.

The phone vibrates repeatedly on the table beside them and he can feel Jon just itching to get to it. Eventually, Theon sneaks a look at the screen and sees her name as clear as day in his notifications.

“You’re speaking with her?” he asks casually.

Jon stays silent as Theon continues to cut his hair, until eventually he answers quietly, hurt plain in his voice, “you told me to, didn’t you?”

“I was passing on a message.” A message it might have been, just not the one from Val he claims it to be.

“Funny time to be just passing on a message,” Jon says, with good reason. “What do you want from me? You made your point.”

Theon pushes his hand through Jon’s hair and watches him sigh and close his eyes in anticipation of some more cutting. 

Believing himself to have finished, he crouches in front of Jon to get level with him, checking the sides to make sure they are symmetrical and even. It means getting face to face with him, but he wills himself not to look him directly in the eyes, that’s a road to destruction. Instead, his fingers play with the lengths, testing them against each other. It’s shorter on the sides now whilst retaining most of the length on top. Enough to grip.

“Would you like to see it and let me know if you want anything changing?” he asks. It's a rhetorical question, he’s already reaching for a mirror he’d set aside on the table.

Jon shakes his head. “I’m sure it's fine.”

“Snow,” Theon says, tired, and nudges up Jon’s chin.

Jon looks up from where he has been fixating on his own hands, picking at the nails, and into Theon’s eyes, and Theon melts. Of all the sad looks he’s received from Snow this one hits the hardest, it's agonising. He looks like he’d rather not be seeing him at all. He can feel himself almost bring his lips to Jon’s own, anything to take it away.

“I’m sorry,” Theon says quietly. “I know I reacted badly, I just can’t. I really can’t. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you by saying it in front of them, I know that. But, please, don’t put me in that position.” He knows he should end it there, but instead his mouth continues to run. “If I was going to speak to them, don’t you think I’d have done it for Robb?” 

A moment of deathly silence descends. Tension so thick their nanny, Old Nan, would have said you could cut it with a butter knife.

“Are you done?”

It’s not completely obvious whether he means with the cut or the talk, but Theon backs away in response to both of the questions and lets Snow get to his feet. He shrugs off the towel from around his shoulders, leaving him bare-chested, and leaves it on the seat. Not once does he meet Theon’s eyes as they search his expression. Theon’s hands itch to reach out to him.

“I’m going take a shower then and get these hairs off.”

* * *

No matter what he does, he cannot get Jon to look anything but nervous. Perhaps this had been a mistake. 

Theon has spent the day trying to get a decent shot of him with little luck. He looks good, far too good, even with the sombre expression that’s killing Theon inside, but as soon as he gets any sense that there is a camera on him he tenses up. Occasionally, Theon tries a joke or two, but Snow’s lips refuse to do anything but make the tiniest of thin-lipped smiles. Meanwhile, his eyes are ice cold.

“Snow,” Theon says with a sigh, “you need to loosen up.”

“I don’t think it’s going to happen,” Jon tells him irritably from where he’s leant against Theon’s midnight blue bedroom wall, looking down through the window, and scratches his neck.

“Why not?”

A blush creeps up on Snow’s face. “I just feel… daft.”

“You don’t look daft, relax.”

Jon scoffs. “You would say that.”

“Would I?” Theon laughs, and Jon finally cracks a small smile.

He shakes his head and stretches up to fork his fingers through his new hair. Theon takes the opportunity to take a snap only to have Jon immediately stiffen again.

“You look hot,” says Theon, getting it out in as much of a casual way as he can muster as he looks down at the image on the screen. He can say it to Kyra without it meaning anything, he should be able to say it to Jon. “Don’t think about it too much, pretend I’m not here.”

“Do you think I have some sexy alter ego that comes out when you aren’t here?”

He chuckles. “Do you want to be sexy for the camera?”

“That’s not what I meant… I just mean that I’m - I’m not you.”

“Are you calling me sexy, Snow?” Theon teases.

Jon rolls his eyes.

Theon smirks and clicks the shutter. “That’s it, you roll your eyes for me, baby.” 

“Stop!” Jon tells him through his laughter and reaches out to cover the camera.

Biting his lip, Theon lowers the camera. “I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Theon tells him huskily, and takes away the drink Jon’s holding, setting it aside on the table. Taking Jon’s lips with his own and marvelling at how readily they now part for him, he works open the shirt's remaining buttons. Snow’s moans into his mouth and his hands wander, but Theon tries his hardest to ignore them and the way his brows furrow to focus on the plan.

Is he using sex as a way to kiss and make up without all the implications of a solitary well-timed kiss? Quite possibly.

“This is your idea?” Jon quizzes him, already breathless, with a hand at Theon’s elbow.

With a mischievous grin, Theon reluctantly pulls away and steps over the shelves on the wall nearby. His skin still tingles from Jon’s touches. He positions the camera on just the right shelf to capture Jon from the waist up and sets it to take a photo at regular intervals. 

“Theon,” Snow begins nervously, eyeing up the lens pointing at him.

“Shh, ignore it, it’s just for us.” He kisses him again, easing him into the idea. 

There it is again. Us.

His lips work their way down Jon’s body, peppering him with kisses and licking at those grooves. On his knees, he looks back up to Jon and begins to work open his belt. He half expects to be pushed away, but instead, Jon’s hand caresses his jaw, thumb playing against his lower lip.

* * *

Afterwards, he lays beside Jon on his stomach in bed and flicks through the photos taken ten seconds apart. If it was acceptable to print and frame every single last one of them, from Jon’s hand obscuring the smile lighting up his face to the moment his jaw drops, he would. His favourites are the ones in which Snow looks down to watch him, awe as plain as day, muscles in his arms flexed as he holds Theon’s head, just out of the field, between his hands, because Theon remembers this especially. Jon’s fingers stroking him like he’d never known anything so wonderful. ‘ _Theon_ ’ falling from his lips until he managed to breathe out ‘ _fuck me_ ’. One where he turns to the camera looking utterly wrecked comes in a close second. It has the danger of rousing him all over again.

“Have a look,” he beckons Jon, angling the camera to show him and letting his hair spill over the bed.

Jon shakes his head whilst buttoning the bottom couple of buttons on the shirt back up. “I can’t.”

“You can, come on.” 

Snow shifts around a little on the bed while they go through each of them, but when they reach Theon’s favourite his face drains of all colour.

Before he can think on it too much, his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jeans on the floor.

“One sec.”

Robb(  


**Robb:** You alright?  


**Robb:** you’ve been quiet  


**Theon:** i’m fine  


**Theon:** it was just a bit sudden  


**Robb:** he means well...  


He looks over at Jon, who glances from the camera’s screen to give him a soft smile, moving his head to rest his cheek against his arm.

**Theon:** yeah, I know  


**Robb:** I was wondering, we were planning to play some of those daft games you hate later - would you like to join? No pressure, he’s only mentioned it to me. Not the others.  


  


**Robb:** just thought it might be easier without that need to chat or see people  


**Theon:** if he knows why hasn’t he said anything  


**Robb:** dunno  


He throws the phone carelessly back onto his clothes and rolls over to face Jon. Golden sunlight pours in through the window and across them both. The flat is too high up for him to care about closing blinds unless he’s trying to sleep. He may have even had some fun up against the glass.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“I think you just did.”

Theon pinches him lightly on the side. “Har har, you got some secret love child I don’t know about to come out with these dad jokes?”

“Go ahead, I might even answer you,” says Jon, smirking.

“I know it was hard for you, but… something seemed different. Earlier, I mean.”

“Is there a question?”Jon asks, playing difficult with him.

He nods, sincere in his need to know. “Why?”

“Ok, fine, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” Jon rolls onto his back to look up at the ceiling. “Only Robb knows so just… no blabbing.”

Theon props himself up on his elbow to better see Jon’s face. “Your stories come with a lot of ‘don’t tell anyone’. I have no idea who you think I would be telling, but alright, cross my heart, hope to die and all that nonsense.”

His eyes roll and Theon wasn’t entirely joking when he implied it puts his mind in the gutter, especially not when he’s in his sheets. “You instil such confidence in a person.”

Theon grins at that. If anything this suggestion makes Snow open up to him more of a victory. “Come on.”

“So, first year, we have this lecture on blood types, right? About dominant and recessive alleles.” Theon shrugs and Jon gives him an exasperated look, like everyone should know this shit. Sometimes he gets the feeling Snow doesn’t quite understand the general population. “Anyway, a few of us didn’t know our blood types, but someone mentioned you can find out through giving blood, which was an extra incentive…” 

“Go on,” Theon encourages him.

Jon chews his lip. “It came back as O-.”

“And that's a problem because?”

“I don’t know if you’ve ever given blood before?” asks Jon.

Theon shakes his head. Previously he’s not sure there was ever a long enough period of not being with a man, and more recently there are a few reasons why he no longer can. 

Snow seems to have expected the answer and continues without properly looking at him. “They used to give out these keyrings - I’m not sure if they still do - after the first time you donated, it has your blood type on.” He takes a pause and he begins to pick at his nails. Theon instinctively places his hand over the top as he might with Jeyne. “Well, I suppose I always assumed I was Ned’s kid - you always said so - but a couple of months later I spotted one on his keys. I’d never noticed it before, I guess you sometimes don’t see the things in plain sight. And it's got AB on there.”

“I’m going to guess that’s not a thing that happens?”

“No.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He’d always assumed the same really, he hadn’t been lying when he used the idea that the adoption had been something to keep up the pretence that there hadn’t been an affair to taunt Snow. “Do you know who?”

“Whose kid I am?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, at first I decided I didn’t want to know. Anything to ignore it, I guess, so I didn’t do anything about it for years. But after the,” one of his hands moves from under Theon’s and over the scar on his stomach, “you know, I decided I needed to know.”

Theon nods, letting him carry on at his own pace, acutely aware that he’s been left practically holding Snow’s hand.

“So I finally confronted him. The first part was easy to get out of him, and I’d narrowed it down anyway. I look too much like him for it to be a coincidence I guess.”

He means to say that he’d decided that he was likely of one of Ned’s siblings making. Theon did at least learn to understand Snow’s sometimes useless lack of articulation.

“Which one?”

“Lyanna.”

“Makes sense,” says Theon. “She must have been what? Pretty young I’d imagine.”

Jon nods, eyes on the ceiling. “Sixteen.”

“Yikes. And your father?”

“He was more reluctant to tell me, so I did some digging. Came to think it might be Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“Shit!” exclaims Theon for lack of anything more helpful to say.

“Please remember you said you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

Jon’s head turns to look at him. “I know,” he says in a small voice.

“I suppose you can imagine why he’d want to keep you… “

“A secret?” Jon supplies.

“Yeah.”

Even all those years ago the now ex-mayor was already a well-known career politician, from a prominent family, following in his father’s footsteps with a wife and kids in tow. A baby by a teen would not have been good for the image.

“Mmmm,” agrees Snow. 

“Jon,” he begins without thinking, and shuffles over until he lies up against him. “You know they won’t think any differently of you, even if you decide to have a relationship with him, right?”

Jon takes a deep breath, trying to keep it bottled in, but it's unsuccessful. He lets out a solitary sob, and lets himself be pulled into Theon’s arms.

“You’ll always be their brother,” Theon tells him, feeling tears against his shoulder.

“So will you.”

Theon laughs, “I’m not sure we should go down that route of thought. Anyway, I won’t, and never have been. Nor would I want to be.” He chooses not to comment on Robb. “I have my own family, you know? As wild, crazy, eccentric as they are, they’re a part of me like the Starks will never be.”

“Then by your own reasoning, they aren’t mine.”

“You were raised as one of them. Family isn’t blood, but my formative years were spent with those mad bastards, and it shows. I never allowed myself to become comfortable in that house, and no one but Robb even seemed to care. I wanted… I don’t know, some show of being a part of it all, adoption I guess, at one point. But the years passed and there was hardly any protest when I left. It’s not the same”

“I can’t speak for the others… but I cared.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you were fit,” he jokes.

Theon roars with laughter, feeling Jon chuckle against him. “Were?”

“Are,” Snow tells him through gritted teeth.

“It’s nice to know you thought so highly of me.”

“I never said I had standards.”

“Rude!” He cries, climbing over Jon until a knee rests on either side of his hips.

There’s some retaliation, but he captures both of Jon’s hands in his with little struggle and pins them down over his head, against the mattress. When he leans in to kiss him, Jon laughs and turns away. A sparkling grey eye peaks back, waiting for the next move. Shifting both of Jon’s wrists into one grip, he reaches for the camera. 

Theon doesn’t anticipate Jon to play along, but what he does once free is draw one arm in to rest his head and bring a finger to touch his lip. It screams come-hither, and Theon kneels up to capture it from the best possible angle before he discards it once more in favour of getting his hands and lips on Snow.

**Theon:** oh, go on then  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels good to be able to finally get in some more about Jon. These two are useless.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically pwp and I have no excuse

He’s trying to play along; to at least listen to what all the little Starks are saying, but he’s distracted by the goings on in the room he’s in. He’d always known Jon was competitive, but here, right here, he can’t help but smile at it. To him the competitive nature was something Jon held close to himself, that led him to become cross and frustrated about things easily. It meant he would lash out at Theon. But here sat on Theon’s sofa he’s animated, he leans forwards, he taunts the others. He laughs, cries out and overplays distress. Then he turns to look at Theon with a smile, and Theon knows he’s making sure he’s still ok. Something that niggles at him, because does he like it or does it piss him off that Snow thinks he needs looking after?

“Right!” Laughs Robb’s voice from the speakers. “I think it’s time we changed teams. Theon, you’re with me and Arya.”

“That’s because he thinks I’m best,” Arya goads her younger brothers.

“Are you saying he thinks I’m shit?” Theon asks, letting the smile be conveyed in his words. 

“Well,” Bran says, putting on his diplomatic voice, “this is your first time playing.”

“Don’t you worry about me, I’ll make sure not to let you down, team.” He can feel Jon looking at him. He has every reason to be curious.

Theon waits patiently as the race starts up and keeps an eye on Jon, who has definitely played this far too many times, his hands work like its second nature. His only real competitor is Arya, with Robb coming in next. When he knows they’re at the point if he distracts Jon he’ll never be able to come back from it, he leans over and snatches the controller from him.

“Wha- ! What the fuck? Greyjoy!” 

Snow is coming straight for him, so he holds the controller out at arms length in the opposite direction. He’s vaguely aware of shouts coming from the others but they are outmatched by Jon’s body in what his brain decides to prioritise. Jon’s hands, limbs, everything race for it so quickly that there is no thought to where they are placed.

“Ow!” He shouts when Jon, who looks a little too smug about it, ends up kneeing him. “Watch it.”

“Then play fair and give it to me.”

“Oh I-”

Snow’s hand flies across his mouth. He really does know better than to trust him, but so does Robb. Robb’s laughing at the innuendo he didn’t even get to make. 

Theon smirks and raises his brows to challenge him. There’s that conflicted expression of Jon’s for just a split second before he turns in to face him in his lap. His eyes track straight to that tiny scar against Snow’s cheekbone and he licks the palm pressed against him.

“Ew!” Jon laughs and wipes his damp palm over Theon’s face.

“Ugh! You’re such a child, Snow. You just wait.”

He’s distracted enough that he lets his arm drop and Jon takes his opportunity to lunge for the prize. The look on Snow’s triumphant face makes him grin himself, he forgets momentarily about the other voices and ears and runs a hand up his back.

Snow’s voice whispers softly into the shell of his ear to contrast with the rough stubble against his cheek, “yeah? What are you going to do? Spank me?”

Theon wets his lip, Jon’s words run through him to pool in his groin. “Is that what you want?” he asks quietly in return, fingers nestling in the dark hair at the back of his head, holding them with soft lips against ears. His free hand runs along Jon’s thigh, massaging his thumb against the muscle.

“Not right now.”

Hand moving to the curve of Jon’s backside, Theon cocks his head. “What do you want now?”

There’s the whooping sounds of the winners and the groans from the losers. Both he and Jon have been timed out.

Jon grinds against Theon’s growing erection in response. 

“Fuck…” Theon breathes. Sat on his lap, Jon is a little higher than him when he sits straight to look down for an answer. “Fuck, how do we turn this thing off?”

Even the shift of Jon’s body when he turns to look at the tv and switch the console off via the controller makes him groan.

“The internet died,” Snow tells him quite seriously.

“The internet died,” he agrees with a grin, taking a hand to shift his face back for a kiss. 

Fuck, he’s drunk on him. Even the smell of him is tormenting. He can’t get enough. It’s too much even to let Jon get off him to undress. Instead, he encourages Snow to lift himself up as he does his own hips to slide his boxers off and has to wriggle down Jon’s one side at a time. Thank fuck they didn’t dress properly. A phone vibrates somewhere but neither of them moves to find it. They both know who it is. He’s a little ashamed to admit it does something to him to know they both focus on each other instead.

“And you? Would you like that?” Jon asks him, moving his hips in a way that has Theon biting his lip. “For me to ride you.”

His eyebrows raise and he laughs. “I think you know the answer to that, baby.”

Jon leans forwards and kisses his neck, tenderly spreading his hot tongue over the fading mark. Theon’s hands run over the corded muscles of his back. When Jon’s mouth eases up, he inhales against Theon’s skin and murmurs just loud enough for him to hear. “I just want to make you happy.”

Theon could choke. He’d laugh and say something along the lines of it being quite the challenge if he were a little less restrained, or if it wasn’t going to make Jon stop. The thing is that even just this sentence moves him towards him being happy. He’s heard ‘I just want you to be happy’ before, but this is different. He knows Snow is talking about sex, and even that is a thrill. But that someone is expressing a want to be an active agent in his happiness… 

“The drawer,” he manages to say, indicating to the side table.

Clinging to Theon by using his thighs as a vice, Jon reaches over and laughs when he opens it up. “You’re kidding me.”

“Hey, until recently I lived by myself. What do you want? The place to be baby-proofed? Are you complaining?”

“Certainly not complaining,” says an amused Jon, passing over the bottle of lube so that he can continue his quest. “Just realising what it is to be one of Theon Greyjoy’s conquests.”

Theon watches him tear open the condoms foil with his teeth. “Is it everything you ever imagined?”

Jon snorts. “Shut up,” he says and takes the lube back from him to drip inside the condom, which he then rolls slowly down Theon’s cock.

His breath hitches at Snow’s hands on him. “What happened to making me happy?”

Lips twitching into a smirk, Jon covers a hand in lube and leans in to kiss him. Meanwhile, the hand strokes him up and down to coat the outside of the rubber. Theon can’t help but moan right into his mouth. “I said _I_ want to make you happy,” Jon tells him, and he has to smile at that.

“You’re not at all what I imagined,” Theon hears himself say as he pulls Jon’s t-shirt over his head, “these last few years I mean.”

“No? What did you imagine?” Jon asks hot against him, moving forwards for Theon to get his hands on the lube and flip the cap behind his back.

“Straight and even straighter laced.” His finger probes carefully and he feels Jon tense slightly against him. He knows Snow is probably still feeling a little sensitive from before and so he takes it slowly, inserting just the tip. 

“Not straight,” breathes Jon, beginning to relax as Theon circles his rim.

“I had an inkling.” Theon smiles as Jon moves against his hand, sneaking out more pressure. “Not incredibly straight-laced either,” he notes at a whine. “And then you turned up at my door and gave me a small heart attack.” 

“Yeah?” rasps Jon.

“Mmmm,” he hums against Jon’s throat, and concedes to Snow, letting him move back to his second knuckle. “You’ve been driving me mad.”

“I’d hoped so,” Jon admits and moans when he feels Theon react to that by nudging in the neighbouring finger, “because you’ve driven me mad for over a decade.”

All his desire to take things easy with him is dripping away. He plunges in both and has Jon cry out.

“I need you,” Jon chants as Theon crooks his fingers, “oh fuck, I need you.”

Theon takes a moment to watch Jon coming undone with a succession of pleas and moans. But with his wrist starting to ache and feeling desperate himself, he removes his digits and guides the head of his cock to press against him. It’s all the invitation for Jon to ease down onto him, mouth gaping and struggling not to cry out.

“Fuck, I’ll never get over that feeling. Gods, you're perfect,” he says, no longer lowering his voice. He pants against Theon, rising and falling on top of him. “So fucking perfect. Oh, you feel so good. How can anyone be this perfect? Oh fuck.”

Theon’s never known him to speak so freely. The words pour straight from his lips. An endless stream of praises and yeses that feel as good as his hot tight body. Gods, Theon’s neighbours must hate him.

“You’re so good at this, baby,” he groans and kisses a nipple, “the way you move, the way you take me. And this,” he touches Jon’s lips and very nearly gives in right then and there when they open to lick and suck at his fingers. His tongue runs over and between them inside his mouth. “Shit. You're going to make me cum,” he admits and feels Jon’s whimper. 

The movement slows and Snow lets the fingers go. They rest against each other, taking in the rise and fall of one another's bodies until they match each other and fall into rhythm. Only then does Jon resume the shallow roll of his hips, letting his forehead, sticky with sweat, droop against Theon’s. Theon guides his mouth down to kiss him, enjoying the novelty of it. His eyes are the darkest he’s ever seen them, pools of black filled with lust with only an outline of dark grey, and they press closed when Theon’s hand moves to his prick and his thumb smears the precum over his slit.

“You don’t know how beautiful you are,” Theon tells him and ignores the tiny noise of protest he makes when the hand is taken away, whether it be over the compliment or the loss of touch. One hand fumbles to get the lube back from across the sofa and the other holds on tight to Jon. He squeezes it out onto his hand and kisses Jon softly as he goes back to his erection, trailing his fingertips from root to tip. 

Jon gasps into his mouth at the sensation of the slick touches. He grasps the back of the sofa and uses it for stability when he slams down. He brings himself up until he’s right on the edge of Theon slipping out and plunges straight back down.

Theon wraps his hand around and picks up the speed of the strokes, kissing Jon’s jaw as best he can under the circumstances. His opposite hand grips tightly Jon’s hip, urging his movements on. He’ll be surprised if there aren’t the telltale bruises there tomorrow, and he suspects Jon is as turned on by this as he is. This is what their previous antagonism has come to. The need to mark each other. To prove they’ve been there, to paint over all those marks they’ve left before.

Theon places a tender and well-timed kiss against Jon’s cheekbone the moment he shudders and covers Theon’s hand with pearly come.

Cheeks burning a bright red, Jon takes the hand with one of his own, leaving the other for leverage in his persistent yet erratic and trembling movements, and begins to lick it clean. It’s already too much, and then Jon purposefully, with heavy-lidded eyes, meets his own. He cries out Jon’s name while the tongue laps between two of his fingers and fills him, clutching his body to his.

 _Straight and straighter laced_ , he’d said.

Gods bless Jon Snow’s competitive streak.

Jon grabs wipes from the drawer, hands them to Theon and climbs from his lap to lie on the sofa. He huffs a small laugh out seeming a little embarrassed through the bliss and dishevelment. 

After Theon’s cleaned himself up, he pulls underwear back on and smiles fondly at Jon who returns it. Very nearly does he lean over to give him a kiss. 

“What do you want to drink?” he asks, getting up and walking to the kitchen. When he glances back Jon has turned onto his stomach to reach for his phone on the floor, pleasantly displaying the curves of his arse.

As he is unlocking the screen, he calls over, “just water would be great, thank you.”

By the time Theon comes back over with the glass, Jon has his phone to his ear, propped up on his elbows.

“Hey, sorry, the wifi’s been shit recently, guess too many people are working from home.” 

Theon snorts, it's 9pm, to which Jon waves a warning hand without even looking at him.

“No, no, just messing around,” Jon says and Theon sniggers. “Yeah, we are. He’s still a dickhead like - “ Theon squeezes his bum with a hand he knows is still cold and wet from the tap “ - fuck off!” he shouts, but laughs. “You didn’t warn me he was still a massive attention seeker… Mmmm, I suppose not... Yeah, yeah, sure… For you,” he directs the last part to Theon and sits up, exchanging his phone for the water.

“Hi Stark,” Theon greets him without checking who he’s on the line with.

“Hey, how’s things? I haven’t heard much from you. Are you tormenting him?”

“I’d forgotten how much fun it could be,” he sits on the sofa’s arm and smirks at Jon, pushing the fingers from his opposite hand through his roommate’s hair as Robb laughs in his ear. He could thank his brother for sending over some lockdown entertainment, but he’s not convinced it would go down well with either of them. “I’m fine, just a little distracted. It was nice to speak with you all again. How about a catch up tomorrow? Do you have some free time?”

* * *

When he finally makes it to his own phone he picks it up to find the screen full of notifications. At first, it's great to have so much attention for this post, but once it's unlocked and he browses through the comments underneath about 45% are about the shirt, 35% are purely about Jon, 20% about Jon in the shirt. And shit. If strangers on the internet who have no idea of Jon’s skillset are commenting on his bedroom eyes…

Jeyne(  


**Jeyne:** Subtle  


**Jeyne:** Sansa is screaming  


  


He very nearly drops the phone when it begins to ring in his hand and freezes at seeing his sisters face appear. With one hasty glance at Jon he flees to the privacy of his room, pulling the door closed behind him.

“You’re screwing him,” she accuses as soon as he answers.

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

Theon scoffs and sits down on the end of the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He can’t stand me. You know he can’t stand me.”

“Theon, fucking or not, he’s letting you take and use photos of him looking like that he certainly doesn’t dislike you… “ she reasons. Theon says nothing. “Theon? He does know?”

“Yes... No…?” He panics. It’s not like he hadn’t considered that Jon wouldn’t like it. But he figured it was better to do and ask for forgiveness later. Only, he’s never been particularly good at apologies. “He knew it was being taken.”

“And what’s he looking at, baby brother? A puppy?”

“For fucks sake, he just has some hidden talents, alright? This is some stretch, even for you. Do you really think first off that Snow would be down for that? What’s more likely? That known prude Jon Snow can pose for a camera, or that he’s letting me fuck him?

There’s a silence which tells him they both know the answer to that.

“Just be thankful neither Rodrick nor Maron use social media and would be too dense to read the obvious, Theon. The fucking obvious.” She sighs. “That’s quite an achievement though, hats off to you. Quite a notch in the bedpost. I guess you found your own silver lining then.”

Theon prickles. It hadn’t felt nearly as unnerving when Jon had called himself a conquest. “It’s only a silver lining if it's something you’d ordinarily want to happen, this is making the best out of a bad situation.”

“Hmm, right.”

Right on cue, there’s a yell from down the hall. “Greyjoy!”

“I’ve got to go. Speak soon.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Theon digs his own grave ;)

Shit. This is not going to go down well.

“What were you thinking?” Jon yells at him, flinging the door open to Theon’s room. Its handle crashes against the wall behind.

“I was thinking you looked good, is that a crime?”

Jon is - quite rightly, Theon acknowledges - fuming. “You said just for us!”

Theon shrugs as though downplaying this might actually work. “I say a lot of things, Snow.”

“I can’t believe you! Is this what you wanted, to broadcast - to -,” he pauses and then motions between themselves, “to broadcast whatever this is?”

“I wanted to make a name for myself. Gods, this isn’t about you.” It’s maybe a little about him.

“You used me,” Jon accuses him furiously, pointing a finger. “I am sick to the back teeth of being used. By her, and now you.”

Theon forces the lump from his throat. “Kinda seemed like you were enjoying it.” Jon looks like he might very well murder him there and then. “Chill the fuck out, people aren’t going to know what’s going on just from that photo. And if they are then you are welcome to deny it.”

Snow holds up his phone full of notifications from at least two of his siblings from what Theon can see. And Val. “I think we’re past that point.”

After a moment of silence, he feigns nonchalance. “Fine, fuck it then. Is that what you want?”

His phone starts ringing again. This time it's Robb, deceptively cheery in the photo. He’s not going to be smiling about this. Before Theon answers it he lets Jon see who it is, ready for him to give in to the defeat, ready for him to agree that they can pretend nothing is going on between them, and then holds it for just himself to be able to see the video.

Robb is already scowling, a deep line creasing his forehead. It’s a look he hasn’t seen in quite some time. And it's not usually directed at him “I’ve been trying to call -”

“Sorry, I was speaking to Asha.” He scratches his neck and can’t stop his eyes flicking over to Jon with his arms crossed by the door. “What’s up?”

“You know what's up!” Robb seethes.

Gods, not two of them. He stays silent. If he says nothing he can’t implicate himself. But there's only so long they can last with this staring contest.

“Are you sleeping with him?” 

“What the fuck?” He shakes his head like he’s never heard anything so preposterous in his life and glances back to Jon, who has determinedly set his jaw. If he thinks he’s going to win a game of chicken if it comes to it he’s wrong. “Where is this coming from?”

“You know very well where this is coming from. Of all the ways to find out you were doing something so inconceivably stupid, I wasn’t expecting it from your Instagram account via my wife, who appears to think Jon might be some secret model. But I know, and you know, that isn’t true. Is it? Nor is he a particularly good actor, and last time I got out a camera he avoided it like the plague. So, I’m asking you again, are you sleeping with him?”

He gulps but manages to frown and force some sarcasm. “What do you want me to say? That I’m giving your brother head in that photo?” In the corner of his eye he can see Jon go as white as, well, snow.

“Theon!” Robb barks then pinches the bridge of his nose. “For crying out loud, I can tell when you’re lying.”

“It’s not a lie,” Theon tells him stubbornly, hoping the double bluff holds. Despite his pretence with Snow, he really doesn’t want to have the conversation with Robb like this. It’s not even necessary. No one was ever supposed to know. It’s nothing serious.

“I know. For fuck’s sake, I know! It doesn’t take a genius to piece this together with the pair of you teasing - ”

“I’ve always teased him,” Theon points out.

“No, you’ve always taunted him, and the word ‘play’ never came before 'fighting' before either. Like some nightmarish schoolyard crush. Are you pulling each other's hair too? Wait! Don’t answer that.”

Jon gives him one last glare, shakes his head, and leaves. Part of Theon itches to chase after him. The part that makes him watch him go wistfully rather than concentrate on Robb.

“Theon?” Robb asks, his voice softening when he gets a hint of the turmoil. “What were you thinking?”

Rubbing his temple with his spare hand, Theon sighs. “I was thinking we’re two consenting adults and it was a bit of fun, what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, something that reassures me that you’ve at least considered him during all of this.”

“If I hadn’t considered we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?” Theon sneers, hating the suggestion that he’d been so self-centred.

Sternly, Robb says, “Theon.”

“Yes, _Robb_?” 

“He’s not like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He spits. “ _Like me_?”

“He’s not - “ Robb pauses and exhales as he struggles for the right words. Theon’s brain supplies various terms to degrade himself, ones he’s heard all too often. “He doesn’t do this.”

“Uh, well he has. More than once.”

“You’re infuriating -” growls Robb.

“And not just with me.”

Robb’s interest is piqued. “What are you talking about?”

“Val. Have you seen her?” He whistles. “Can’t fault him f-”

“Theon!” Robb cries at him. “Mother have mercy. He thought he was falling in love with her.”

“Oh.” Shit.

“Oh? Is that all you have to say?”

“In my defence,“ Theon begins, knowing he’s digging himself into a hole.

“Yes?” Robb asks through gritted teeth.

“You sent him here knowing full well what I’m like, apparently.”

With an expression that matches his brother’s rage perfectly, Robb looks like he’d reach through the screen and throttle him if he could.

“I thought you had some sense. Enough to know that this was a bad idea. That coming on to Jon was always going to end badly.”

“He’s as much a part of this as I am! Is that what you want to hear? That your poor innocent brother made the eyes at me until I cracked? That he wanted it just as much as I did? That he climbed onto my lap and talked dirty to me during that game? He’s not the puritanical saint you seem to think he is. _Believe me_.”

He’s gone too far. Way too far. Robb’s eye twitches. It would be hilarious if he weren’t horrified. He could cave and tell him the honest truth of it; that he has feelings for Jon. Feelings that scare him out of his mind. Feelings that under different circumstances would have him pushing Jon out the door and ghosting him. Not that second part though, that would do nothing to stop him flipping out. But he’s not going to say that. Instead, he’s going to maintain eye contact unwaveringly until Robb hangs up without another word.

Theon raps on Jon’s door afterwards, leant against the frame. “Jon, can we talk?”

“Oh, I’m Jon now, am I?” 

That’s fair. Though it has to be said - he started it.

“I… I’m sure it's not as bad as you’re thinking,” Theon says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “Robb clearly didn’t think Jeyne suspected anything.”

He can just about hear a muffled “It’s bad enough.”

Rather than asking the question he longs to ask _; Is it so terrible that the ones closest to us know?_ He says, “I’m sure he’ll calm down.”

“And what about Val?” snaps Jon.

Theon’s head rests against the door as he asks, “I thought you’d broken it off with her?” He doesn’t intend to sound as offended as he does. There’s no response to that. “Look, I know I was wrong to do it anyway, but I honestly didn’t consider actual people seeing it and being able to make deductions.”

“You said just for us,” Jon repeats.

“I know… I didn’t intend to. When we both saw them afterwards I just assumed we both realised that some of them weren’t what either of us expected to come out of it, but I should’ve asked. I sort of thought if I showed you anything I planned to use you’d get self-conscious. I’m sorry, I messed up.”

“Just…” Jon’s voice becomes clearer, he’s moved closer, up against the door perhaps. His voice is tired, strained. “I don’t know… go back to scrolling through Tindr when you’re horny and leave me out of it.”

“Swiping,” Theon corrects without thinking.

“What?”

Fuck, why is he saying this? “You don’t scroll through - “

“Must you be so argumentative about literally everything?” The door moves in its latch. He’s up against it. “That’s what you’re going to take from that? You know what I mean. Piss off.”

Jeyne (  
  
**Theon:** i’ve fucked it  
  
**Jeyne:**... he’ll come round  
  
**Jeyne:** by the sounds of it  
  
**Theon:** the sounds of it?  
  
**Jeyne:** you had to know sans wouldn’t stay out of it  
  


Kyra(  
  
**Kyra:** (Eyes )  
  
**Theon:** that bad?  
  
**Kyra:** nah, only if you know what you’re looking for (Face Throwing A Kiss )  
  


* * *

Jon manages to avoid him moderately well over the next couple of days on account of being back at work. The evenings are especially hard to deal with despite him not even being in the flat due to being on night shifts. The absence of work he should be doing or people checking in makes him dwell. How could he be so stupid? After a drink or two, he succumbs to the urge to message him. That’s at least something; he has an excuse to do this an easier way.

Snow(  
**Yesterday** 8:15 PM  
**Theon:** I’m sorry  
  
**Yesterday** 11:01 PM  
**Theon:** I’m really fucking sorry  
**Today** 12:37 AM  
**Theon:** nothing?  
Jon is typing...  


Laid on the sofa, he tries to distract himself from just watching the dots on the screen, and looks over to watch the tv briefly, but no response comes.

  
**Theon:** you looked so fucking good. I couldn’t help it. Drowned fuck, Jon, those photos.  
  
**Theon:** your face  
  
**Theon:** no one's ever looked at me like that  
**Today** 2:19 AM  
**Theon:** i want to make you look at me like that again  
**Today** 2:43 AM  
**Jon:** Are you under the misguided impression that sexts are the way to go with this?  
  
**Theon:** Snow, you have a low bar on sexting  
**Today** 3:07 AM  
**Jon:** you’re not doing yourself any favours  
  
**Theon:** I’m sorry, just struggling not to tell you things that will have you blush in front of your colleagues  
  
**Jon:** you’re incorrigible  
  
**Jon:** see you tomorrow  
  
**Jon:** don’t push your luck  
  
**Theon:** never  
  
**Jon:** and just be glad everyone appears to be as dense as you  
  
**Theon:** i cropped it, there’s nothing to see.  
  
**Theon:** you can’t even see anything in the original  
**Today** 3:52 AM  
**Theon:** your arms might be a giveaway… they add to the magic though  
  
**Theon:** might print it off. Get it professionally framed...  
  
**Jon:** go to sleep you idiot  
**Jon:** speak tomorrow  
  


* * *

Despite his talk of speaking in the morning, Snow has managed to get into the flat and then the bathroom without Theon spotting and intercepting him while he was on a call. Probably something to do with how he's dead on his feet today after being up all night. He waits to hear the bathroom door opening, but the shower turns off, water runs, time passes, and there is no exit. Eventually, he succumbs to his curiosity and calls inside.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Fine,” Jon replies. He sounds calm at least. “Just trying to make my muscles stop screaming.”

Theon gathers his courage. “Can I come in?”

“The doors locked.”

“You know these new builds… too safety conscious,” says Theon as he eyes the lock. “If I can open it, can I come in?”

Full of snark, Jon asks, “depends, do you have a camera on you?”

“Touché.” He smiles. “No photos. I promise.”

“Fine,” says Jon after a moment’s hesitation.

Theon fetches the keys from by the front door and uses the wide end to twist the lock via the groove. When he walks in, Jon instinctively pulls in his leg on that side of the bath to save some of his modesty. He looks torn between lingering annoyance and curiosity as to what Theon might have to say.

Ignoring him, Theon asks, “how was work?”

“Busy. I’ve barely sat down. And to top it all off, this pig-headed twat wouldn’t quit texting me.”

Theon laughs and Jon cracks a small smile.

“Can I come over?”

Jon nods with a sigh and sits forwards to wrap his arms around his knees. Feeling guilty, Theon approaches slowly as though Jon is some skittish animal, and carefully moves the bottles from the bench at the end of the bath to sit on it. He draws one leg up under him.

“What is it you do anyway?” He asks and a soft snort escapes Jon. “I know I should probably know this by now.”

“I guess I’m not doing it from the living room.”

“No.”

“I’m training in Paediatric Orthopaedics - kids bone, muscle, that kind of thing.”

“Ah ok, that makes sense.”

“Makes sense?”

“Mmmm, Silk - ?”

“Satin,” Jon corrects him with a mildly annoyed tone.

Theon smirks behind Jon’s back. “Satin said you saw him often.”

“I used to see him a lot more outside of work, but I guess it's nice to be able to see him there still.” Jon has eased up a little in his posture, he turns to look at Theon in the pause. “Sorry, I know you don’t really get that.”

Theon bites his lip. He hadn’t really let himself think that way. And thinking about it now; even if he gets to see the people that matter to him any time soon, they’re still a long way off being able to give him a simple hug. If Jon weren’t here he’d have no one.

Jon senses his disquiet. “Hey, are you ok? I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine. So,” he begins, rubbing the pad of his thumb carefully against the nape of Jon’s neck, “why that specialism?”

Jon huffs out a little laugh. “I opted into working in a prison during my rotation. I was not at all cut out for that kind of environment. I had little experience of people’s lives are like outside the bubble. I guess I was always a little naive, right?”

He smiles, glancing down to admire Snow’s back, the dimples below the water. “An idealist, maybe.”

“Anyway, I left with the scars,” Jon tells him matter of factly.

Theon pauses the kneading. “Shit,” he says, but Jon has no intention of dwelling on it. 

“And so I thought, ok, I’ll go for something a bit… less…” Jon shakes his head and laughs a laugh reeking of self-deprecation again, and Theon shifts his thumb and joins the other, massaging into his shoulders. “I imagined standard broken bones in the beginning, you know? Robb falling off his bike, me getting smacked by that cricket ball in the hand, you jumping that wall. Fun kid stuff. I…” he glances over his shoulder, “I had a very sheltered childhood I suppose.” His hand reaches up and squeezes Theon’s hand meaningfully.

When he drops it, Theon trails his fingertips along his shoulders, up to his neck and back down again. He allows himself to zone out, to focus on the rise and fall of the contours of the body under his hands.

“Theon?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m not going to question you, I’m never going to probe you for answers, I’m never going to insist you tell me what happened. Any of it. The scars, physical… or not. But, I am ready to hear it, I will always listen, when and if you ever want to talk. Whether it comes sooner, while we’re here - while you’re stuck with me, or later, or not at all. I know I’m probably one of the last people you want to speak to but -” 

Theon slips down from the ledge to the tiled floor and leans across the edge of the bath to kiss him.

“You idiot,” he laughs to keep back the more dangerous emotions. Jon immediately pulls himself up to meet him more easily. Wet hands cover him, leaving patches, and holding his face. His own hands slip so easily over Jon’s skin. “How do you still think that?”

“It’s not like you give me any reason to think overwise.”

Inside, he’s screaming. “How about this?” he asks and kisses his jaw. “And this?” He moves his lips against Jon’s warm skin, down his neck, leaving kisses as he goes and asking repeatedly, “and this?” Jon’s arms wrap around his shoulder and threaten to pull him down into the tub. Theon grins, lips against Jon’s collarbone. “You’ve gotten me all wet.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you just took the hint and got in.”

“I see, this was a ploy to get me naked.” He laughs and gets undressed with Jon watching him every second of the process. Making a joke of it, Theon takes his time about it, taking off his top over his head, undoing buttons, unzipping all as slowly as possible, while Jon raises his brows, lounging back in the water and no longer hiding himself, or his rising interest. “Like what you see, Snow?”

“Nah, I’ve seen better,” he says with a wink.

Completely bare, Theon takes a swipe at the water's surface to splash Jon in the face, failing to take into account his quick reflexes, and is pulled haphazardly down on top of him and into the water. Contending with Jon, Theon, and the momentum, water crashes over the edge of the bath and spills onto the floor, but they only laugh and tug the one solitary towel hung on the rack down onto the floor.

Nestled awkwardly between Jon’s legs and warm arms around him, with the cooling water lapping at his shoulder, Theon smiles when Jon tells him, “I’m going to miss this.”

“My hot body? Mind-blowing sex?” Theon japes.

Jon chuckles and smoothes his wet hair aside to kiss his neck.“You’re more than just sex personified.”

“Sex personified?” He laughs.

“You’re focusing on the wrong part of that sentence.”

“Mmm,” hums Theon, rolling onto his front against Jon, “I don’t think I am, tell me again.”

“My very own Eros come to drive me mad,” Jon teases and licks his lip. His thumb and forefinger catch Theon at the chin.

Theon grins at being likened to a deity and dips his head to kiss the thumb. “And what does that make you?”

“Struck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me again why I opted into using a skin for messages 😩 (ok, because it's kinda fun, but I'm still a little pissed off with past me)
> 
> Only one more chapter and the epilogue. I'm going to post both together, probably on Tuesday.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo.... (overly) emotional smut?

They spend the following week with Theon desperately attempting to make up for his stupidity and trying to squeeze in moments between Jon waking and leaving for work in the early evening for night shifts. It's driving him round the bend, quite frankly, settling for quickies in what appears to be Snow’s mission to bless every spot in the flat. There’s an advantage to this new life with one fuck buddy on the go. He knows Jon’s body like the back of his hand, he can have him crying out in minutes, and Jon likewise knows some of the best possible ways to get him going. Until one night he decides enough is enough.

He slips between Snow’s sheets with them soft against his bare skin. This is one of the few places they haven’t been together, and that has its own appeal to it, with a side of excitement from having not been in the room without Jon in for the longest time. And the element of surprise, of course. They’ve had an unspoken rule against sleeping in one another’s beds, but Jon isn’t here and it adds to the thrill and fun of it.

It’s a struggle, but he does thankfully fall asleep, and successfully resists sending Jon any messages, or even taking matters into his own hands as it were. He does, however, not trusting Jon to have them on hand, leave a variety of suggestive accoutrements on the bedside table.

He expects to wake to find Jon up against him, rousing him gently from sleep, but instead the first sensation he feels, waking him from slumber, are kisses against his spine. Murmuring his approval Theon smiles into one of Jon’s pillows and revels in the press of Jon’s soft lips as he makes his way leisurely down his body. Water drops fall against him from Jon’s hair, wet from the shower, rolling down from his nose and lips, but it only adds to the experience. 

When Jon’s hand cups Theon’s arse he waits, letting his lips ghost over the small of Theon’s back until Theon draws up a knee to will him on. Every part of him tingles and he stirs with the anticipation of Jon’s fingers coaxing him open for the first time. But they don’t come, not then at least. A second hand joins on the opposite cheek and together they part him. It’s only a split second before that he realises what is about to happen, before he feels the wonder that is Jon’s tongue teasing him. Jon licks from his balls, flattening against his perineum, until he’s at his hole. It’s hot, wet, and it makes him hike the leg up further and shift the other while he clutches the sheets. In the haze of his waking body, he can only find it in him to make an encouraging whine, and feels Jon smile and kiss him there as one might a cheek.

The mouth is lost to him for a number of crippling moments before it graces him with its presence once more. Something trickles onto him from those lips and he thinks with a grin that Snow might have spat, but it lasts too long, and when Jon’s tongue enters him he recognises the telltale sleek feel of lube. His stomach flips. He has fucking butterflies.

“Oh fuck,” he manages at the mere thought that Jon has has it in him to apply it in the most sensual way he could possibly imagine.

Theon turns his head to see the sunrise creep in through the window while Jon’s tongue alternates between lapping in and fucking him. He fights to keep his eyes open, but it's too much. His leaking cock rubs against the soft sheets when he shifts and he chases the friction as best he can with Jon’s hands gripping him. Jon must sense the change, with another kiss he pulls away and sits up, a hand kneads him as the other slips for his fingers to replace his tongue. The ring of muscle now as relaxed as he believes humanly possible, a finger enters him easily, and then a second up to the knuckles and Theon gasps when they crook and seek out the swell.

“Oh gods, Jon,” he groans when Jon’s fingers find and massage the nerve endings. He tries to rise up, to rock back, but a well placed steady hand asserts its will for him to still with only a light press.

“Yes, baby? Do you like that?” he asks and dips to kiss his lower back. When he receives no answer he continues, “do I make you feel good?”

“Always. Fuck, always.” Theon whimpers when Jon’s fingers circle.

Jon’s touch is steady and consistent no matter how much noise he makes, no matter how his legs move or how tight he holds the pillow. The motion shifts in the opposite direction, running anticlockwise, and a nervous laugh bubbles from him. He feels the pleasure in every inch of his body.

“I need - “ he begins and pulls his hand down the bed, but Jon’s hand sits at his lower back. He could move back against it if he wanted and be able to touch himself, but he doesn’t. He could lift his hips if he really wanted to.

Jon tells him, “Let me worry about what you need,” and Theon moans a noise he can barely believe he’s the one making.

“I’m going to come,” he groans.

“I hope so,” replies Jon, curling his fingers to stroke him over and over again.

The laugh comes back and he searches for something, anything, to hold onto because if he carries on like this with the sheets they’re going to come straight off. One hand finds the edge of the bed frame as his body gives a lurch and he reaches out to touch the headboard with the other.

“I want you inside me,” he breathes, startled at realising he does with no hesitation, “I want to come around you.”

“You will.”

Well, drown him for a fool for ever having doubted Snow’s capabilities.

“Trust me,” Jon urges him, and it tips him over the edge because, gods be good, he does.

Theon’s toes curl and he clenches the fist of the free hand so tight that even his short nails leave behind their crescent moons upon his palm. His body shudders. His legs have a life of their own and pull up towards his chest.

Rubbing his hand over Theon’s back, Jon kisses him on the arse and gives him a minute before he carefully removes his fingers. He’s oversensitive and twitches when the fingertips inadvertently graze over that spot. But the overwhelming feeling is emptiness and his muscles contract, seeking out the pressure, and he’s still painfully hard.

Trembling, he follows Jon’s encouragement and rolls over onto his back. He draws his hands over his face briefly before he can look at Jon knelt between his legs.

“Fuck,” he laughs again. “Well, shit.”

“Is this… a good reaction?”

“Oh gods, Jon,” is all he can think to say, unable to fully process how Jon could reach any other conclusion. He’s thankful to see him smile in response. 

Jon’s hand’s stroke his thighs tenderly. “Can I?”

“Please. Please fuck me stupid.”

Jon swallows, his Adam's apple bobs in his throat. He leans forwards, strokes Theon’s jaw, then takes a pillow from the opposite side of the bed. “Lift,” he instructs. Theon is barely capable of that, but they manage to nudge it under his hips.

The feel of Jon’s erection pressing against him is sweet torture, and then he eases into him slowly. Grey eyes pierce him. He feels exposed. Never before had he understood the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul, but now? Now he feels it to the pit of his stomach. His eyes roll back into his skull when Jon bottoms out and he can’t help but bite his lip with a smile. 

With Jon over him, despite his best efforts, he tenses at the crowding. At the vulnerability. It feels crazy to be at this place now after how he’s made him feel. Crazy enough that he starts to chastise himself, but Jon eyes him carefully, takes in the drop off in the noises he makes and pulls back onto his knees. He lifts one of Theon’s legs up until it rests against his shoulder and thrusts into him.

“Is this why you do yoga or is it purely to mess with me?” He asks, immediately changing the course of Theon’s thoughts.

“Both,” Theon laughs, taking advantage of the new position to push back against him. His eyes close as sparks fly.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells him, voice low. His head turns to kiss Theon’s calf. “Too beautiful.” With knowing amusement, he adds, “divine,” and Theon grins.

Theon forks his hands through his own hair and concentrates on the sound of Jon’s voice as he whispers sweet nothings and on the feel of his cock. His leg quivers against Jon each time he brushes his prostate. The stretch is perfect. Jon is perfect. He’s full to the brim and a touch overwhelmed. He can barely contain himself.

“This is the kind of waking up I like,” he murmurs and then adds after Jon pulls another cry from him, becoming breathless, “I might sneak into your bed more often.”

“Let it be every night,” Jon begs, pounding into him and eliciting a moan. His hand strokes him, and Theon knows he can’t last much longer. “I need more, Theon.” 

Theon’s brows furrow, he tips his head back and reaches out for Jon’s hand to thread together their fingers. He can’t return the words.

“I want more. I want you,” whispers Jon. The words shatter him, he cries out through his climax and comes back into the world greeted by Jon’s voice. “Theon, I want to sleep with the smell of you on my sheets every day and night. I want more.”

Lost, he opens his eyes to look into Jon’s and squeezes his hand, watching as the face above him floods with the emotions he himself feels, the bliss riding alongside panic, until he peaks in his very own crescendo. 

Jon stills against him and recovers his breath. His lips graze Theon’s leg, but they stop short of the kiss Theon is crying out for inside. Then suddenly Jon’s hands are lowering the limb, cool and mechanical, and he pulls from him. Without a word, Jon shuffles to the edge of the bed to remove the condom. He passes Theon a pair of boxers to clean himself, avoiding his eyes, and then lies as far away in the bed as possible, back to Theon.

Theon’s arms cover his face and he comes to realise that below them his cheeks are wet with escaped tears. He can’t tell for certain how it's come to this; the joy or horror of Jon’s revelation, or the euphoria of two earth-shattering orgasms. He’s overstimulated and overwhelmed in a way he never knew possible.

Glancing across at Jon’s back, he moves his hand across the bed, but stops before he touches him. A plea for Jon to turn dies in his throat.

* * *

“Are you still speaking to me?” Theon asks Robb later on the phone while he’s laid on the grass. He’s not making the mistake of sitting by the path again. Last thing he wants is the hassle of having to speak to any of Jon’s friends. Or, gods forbid, her.

Earlier, he’d waited long enough for it to be reasonable to assume Jon was asleep to get up and start working, not that that was really a goer after that experience. He had definitely not been asleep though.

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m never not speaking to you.”

A heavy sigh escapes him, pent up from the stupid amount of time it’s taken them to have this discussion. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologise to me for, Theon.”

“Well I said - ,” Theon begins.

“Please don’t!” says Robb, not without humour, and Theon smiles. “No more.”

“If… hypothetically…” He pauses and plays with the blades of grass between his fingers, “I needed to talk to you about him… how far am I allowed to go?”

“PG… maybe a 12 if absolutely necessary,” Robb laughs. Probably rules out discussing the situation in its entirety. 

“I see.” This has the promise of being a lot of fun down the line.

“But please don’t put me in a bad position, I don’t want to be between the pair of you in a fight, again.”

“Ah, well, I think this is probably on me,” he says looking up at the clouds.

“Probably?” asks Robb.

“Gods, well, I was - he was - ,” Theon pauses, takes a deep breath, and says, “I have feelings for him.” He waits for a response until he can no longer bear it. “Robb?”

In a voice that reminds him of when he’d told Jeyne about sleeping with Jon, Robb says, “still here.”

“Seven hells, Robb, say something.”

He can hear Robb swallow. “It kind of sounds like something you should be telling him,” Robb says carefully.

“How do you know I haven’t?” Theon asks, and then it clicks. “You know.”

“He said that he’d spoken to you and that you didn’t feel the same way as him.”

Theon pulls himself up to sit. “What else did he say?”

“He said that it wasn’t your fault, that you were honest with him from the beginning, that you were - in his words - ‘making an effort’ to be nice to him before, well, before he says he came on to you.” They both laugh, but Theon reels at the part where Jon thinks it's not his fault. “He says he just can’t stay there anymore, but he hopes you’ll still speak to him.”

“What?” Theon asks, freezing as he smudges some of the dirt from his hand. “He’s planning to leave?”

Robb sounds as panicked as he feels. “I thought that was why you were calling?” 

“I’m,” he sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. Drowned god, this is hard. “I’m calling because I needed to hear that…. I needed to hear whether you thought I could do it.”

“It?” Of course he’s unwilling to extrapolate.

“It being a relationship with him.” 

There’s noises of spluttering from Robb’s end of the line. “Sorry, had a mouthful of tea.” Theon rolls his eyes and Robb asks, “why are you asking me?”

“Because you know me better than anyone, and you’ll think about him in this more than anyone else… the others, they get carried away. They’ll find it funny or they’ll be too kind. You, well, you know what I’m like I - “

“Theon, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I was just caught off guard. And, while we're being honest… I miss you both and neither of you said anything.”

“You’re jealous,” Theon accuses him after laughing.

“Jealous isn’t quite the word I’d use… that would be a little odd.” 

Theon snorts. “We miss you too.”

“Oh gods, it’s started already.” Robb fake retches. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Fuck off,” Theon tells him affectionately. He knows this is insane, and Robb is taking this far better than he could do. Just the idea of Robb with his sister makes his stomach turn. It doesn't bear thinking about.

“You don’t need my opinion. This hang-up you’ve got… There are real reasons why, and now you’re talking to me because you only trust me to think about him, which is insanity because if you didn’t care about him you wouldn’t be asking me. This isn’t about what I or anyone else thinks, this is about whether or not you can trust Jon. And if you do, you need to get off the phone and get back. Right now.”

* * *

The flat’s door is wide open when he gets back. The sounds of a drawer moving on its roller and the zip of a bag are the first things he hears.

It would be easy, he thinks, to simply walk into his own room and ignore it all. Once he engages, that’s it, he’s acknowledging that he’s being left. If he makes no protest at least he can tell himself he’d wanted Jon to go; that he drove him away.

Instead, he opens the door to Jon’s room and watches him carry on with this farce, throwing things into bags seemingly at random. He didn’t bother knocking, Jon would have resisted a discussion if he gave him a reason to.

He could roll his eyes, tell Snow he’s being ridiculous and to snap out of it. He could cross the room, pull the bag he’s holding from his hands and kiss him senseless. He could get angry, ask Jon what on earth he was thinking trying to have that conversation then, and why he’s so impatient that he had to immediately pack his bags. And maybe with any one of those methods they could eventually get to the point where he tells Jon how he feels, but it will be a plaster over a gaping wound.

“Jon,” he sighs, crossing his arms and leaning back against the chest of drawers, preventing him from getting anything else out, “why are you doing this?”

“You know why I’m doing this,” Jon grumbles, a scowl developing.

Theon holds back from snapping, despite his anger, but he can’t help some frustration leaking through. “Because I didn’t immediately parrot every word you said back to you?”

“Because I’m embarrassed,” Jon tells him, finally looking over with those eyes that make the world stop still. “Because there was absolutely no chance you were ever going to return it. Why would you?” he asks. His face screws up. “You’re you… and I’m me.” He shrugs and crosses an arm over to hold the other, looking to the floor. “I would say I was falling for you, but it's been a long fall and this morning I hit rock bottom. I can’t just pick myself up and dust myself off and pretend it never happened. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I didn’t mean to. I just haven’t had the courage to tell you because I knew you wouldn’t reciprocate,” very nearly does Theon put a stop to this and he sort of wishes he had, “but when Val said I could go there I had to know before - ”

“Wait, what?” he asks, and bites his tongue to hold back his suggestion that Snow just fuck off then. What he does say sounds more pained than he’d have ever thought his voice could manage. “You’re planning to go to Val’s?”

“She… she reconsidered. I guess that photo did some good,” Jon lets out a short bitter laugh. 

Theon’s stomach is in knots. He’s been holding onto this since then? Has he been talking to her since then? When he’d said he was going to miss ‘this’ and Theon had made a joke that implied that ‘this’ was just sex because the idea that Jon might think about him in any over was seemed too unlikely... 

“And I know you’d rather I wasn’t here,” Jon carries on. “I’ve even tried to get you to say you wanted me here. Even that would be enough.”

Theon’s mind replays the subtle prompts, the ‘ _I’m going to miss this_ ’, the ’ _while_ _you’re stuck with me_ ’, and the ‘ _I’m probably one of the last people you want to speak to_ ’.

“Snow, sometimes you can be so pigheaded. It goes without saying.”

“Not to me it doesn’t,” Jon says in a quiet voice and wets his lip, nervous.

“Then stay,” pleads Theon, approaching him and setting a hand against his arm. “Please.”

Jon’s eyes looking anywhere but into his own. “That’s not really enough anymore. Not now. Not after this morning. I’m not going to stick around just for your amusement.”

“I like you. I _like_ you…” He strokes his thumb against the bare skin of Jon’s arm and breathes in his smell trying not to think about how this might be the last time. “But If anything’s going to work between us you need to bear in mind that sometimes I’m going to need time. This morning… Jon,” his opposite hand nudges Jon’s chin gently to encourage him to meet his eyes, “this morning I was, for lack of a better term, high.” A hint of a bashful smile plays on Jon’s lips and Theon laughs lightly. “I could barely see straight, nevermind think. You can’t storm off when you don’t instantly - “

“I just need some reassurance from you,” Jon interjects, a little frustrated.

“Look, right,” Theon sighs heavily, “you need to understand that I am trying, I’m really fucking trying, but you need to meet me halfway. You heard Robb on the phone the other day - “

“He didn’t mean it,” Jon instantly reacts.

“Just listen to me for a second. The three of us know what he meant and there’s some truth in it. I’m scared out of my fucking mind, and I’m begging you to understand what asking you to stay means to me and what that says about how I feel about you. You need to see that all the little things are not little to me.” 

After chewing his lip for what feels like an eternity, Jon says, “I’m sorry,” and shifts his hand to cover Theon’s.

“Me too.” 

Theon smiles, suddenly incredibly nervous and unsure of how to approach this now the rush to get things out there has ended. Other kisses, they felt on a whim, they were moments of passion. He reaches down to take the bag from Jon’s hands, hoping with all his heart that he releases it. When he does, he leans in to kiss him softly on the lips. It's sweet and unassuming, not intended to lead anywhere, despite an overwhelming urge to back him up to his bed. Please let him know what it means. Let it make up for all those almost kisses he nearly placed.

Theon steps away and inclines his head to Jon’s things on the bed. “Grab some more of your stuff?”

“What? Why?” Jon’s brows knit.

“This room is no longer available. I need somewhere to put all my work stuff.”

“Yeah?” Jon takes one of the boxes, begins to follow Theon over to what was once Theon’s bedroom, and Theon’s bed, and asks with a smirk, “are you going to get one of those tables?”

Now there's a thought.

And so it turns out the routine wasn’t quite so well working as he’d once imagined, and the threat wasn’t so much a threat as an opportunity to rework the program, especially once Jon starts to go to work during the day like a normal person, into a much improved one.

**8am** Get up, drink vast quantities of coffee

**8.30am** Shower

**9am** Log on and check in with Ky and Wex

**9.30am** Morning meeting, get into argument with boss

**11am** Fuck boss, plot departure.

**12pm** Respond to clients

**1.30pm** Lunch

**2pm** Government-mandated Daily Exercise

**3pm** Begin actual work

**4.30pm** Brainstorm new ideas

**5.45pm** Secure pep talk and reassurance from Kyra

**6pm** Clock watch

**6.30pm** Listen out for the door opening

**7.30pm** Make Snow eat something of some nutritional value

**8pm** Plan to do something productive, browse social media instead, share anything remotely funny with Snow

**9pm** Booze and vegetate (with company)

**10pm** Flirt shamelessly

**11pm** Fail to make it to the bedroom

**12pm** Gain a spark of inspiration

**1.45am** Try to sleep

**1.55am** Have phone pried away from hands by Snow and be pulled into his arms

**2am** Actually sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is over! And I can't believe this is over and lockdown is only just starting to ease (don't get me wrong, I don't want it lifting completely, just frustrated that this could've been avoided...)
> 
> Next is a short fluffy epilogue in Jon POV if you like that kind of thing!


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final chapter. Thanks everyone!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon POV, set about 6 months later. Pure fluff.

“We could go back down to Lannisport after, you know?” Jon suggests. “Get a ferry...”

Theon sucks in his lip and continues staring out the car window. “I’m not sure that’s the best plan… Thanks though.”

“Have a think about it, whatever you want to do.”

He hadn’t really considered the number of road signs for the port and ferries to Pyke they’d see taking The Goldroad on the way to The Crag, only of the eventual views of the ocean on the final leg of the journey. Seeing Theon becoming inward he takes a hand from the wheel and squeezes his knee. It’s difficult knowing that he is an added level of complication to Theon’s already strained relationship with his family.

“Hey.”

“Mmm?” Theon asks, turning back from looking over the water. He’s so beautiful it's difficult to understand how it’s come to this. Just like the night Jon drove them out to the beach, he’ll never get over how bewitched he feels.

“I think we should get a dog,” he says, trying to keep his face straight as he watches Theon’s lips curl and flash the pointy canines that make him feel like he’s going to be eaten alive.

“You’ve seen the lease,” laughs Theon, it's amazing how his mood can be flipped, and that Jon can have this affect, “and what kind of dog do you think we’d fit in there?”

Jon bites his lip and looks back to the road. “Not there.”

“No?” Well, it's not an instant rejection.

Jon reaches into the door and pulls out the brochure he’s been keeping there for the right moment. Nervous, he passes it over to Theon, feeling eyes on his face. During the silence, he attempts to resist looking at Theon's expression as he flicks through.

“You realise I’m newly self employed?” Theon asks when he reaches the final page.

“Did you see the attic space? There aren’t a ton that open, and with all the skylights. I don’t really know what I’m looking for, but light seemed like something that might be good,” he says shrugging.

“I - … Seriously?” His voice sounds so beautiful and optimistic that Jon can’t help but glance over. His lips parted, he searches Jon’s face as though this is some big joke. “Jon, the price though.”

“It seems daft to be paying the extortionate rent on that place, especially now, and you need the space. Don’t have your name on it if - “

“You’re considering putting my name on a mortgage?” The shock is evident on Theon’s face when he looks back.

He’d known this level of commitment this early might have been a problem, but he’s thought through the pros, cons, and options they have.

“Don’t make any contributions if you don’t want, keep your own flat on the side if you feel safer, I don’t care. But this feels like it might be sensible. It doesn’t even have to be this house. As long as you’re happy with it and it works for you.”

“It’s not very close to work for you,” says Theon doubtfully, but Jon knows this voice, it's one that says he’s looking to be convinced.

“No. It’s not. It’s round the corner from Jeyne and Sansa’s. And Sansa says Kyra practically lives there now… That’s what forced my hand. I would’ve waited overwise, but… I can drive, and it's cheaper than getting something closer. I could get it on my income if needed.”

“Pull over,” Theon tells him, voice low. A hand finds Jon’s thigh and strokes up towards his crotch.

“We’re already late,” Jon laughs, but just like he knew he was on the verge of winning the debate, they both know he’s pulling over. Patience, especially in this sense, is not their forte and when would he ever say no to Theon.

“I said, pull over,” Theon purrs right into his ear, breath hot. The smell of him, the fresh scent of citrus with the underlying warmth of pepper that clings to their sheets, that still holds on the pillows Jon burrows his nose into when he’s working nights and Theon is absent from the bed, washes over Jon.

“You’re going to make me crash,” Jon tells him, knowing full well he doesn’t sound incredibly convincing. Convincing in his suggestion that Theon stop, that is.

“Then pull over,” reiterates Theon and kisses his jaw.

“There’s a rest spot set back from the road just ahead.”

“Ok, if you think you can wait that long,” says Theon, nudging his nose against the crook of Jon’s neck. Fuck, there’s never a dull moment with him.

He does hold out though, parking up to face the sea with Theon all over him. He can barely see, his head is angled in such a way for Theon’s lips to have open access to his throat, they stop just shy of marking him.

Jon laughs, pulling the handbrake, and then jokes dramatically as his hands thread through Theon’s raven hair, “Eros makes me shiver again. Strengthless in the knees.” He pulls the knot he’s got it in to feel the locks fall soft against his skin.

“Snow, did you just quote poetry?” Theon chuckles against him, setting pleasant vibrations at his throat. “You’re so cheesy, I love you.”

Pressing his eyes closed, Jon smiles. His heart soars. He’s been holding in those words for the past month, and knows that though they are said in a light-hearted way as though one might with a friend, he knows Theon means them. This is his way of reducing the pressure, and so Jon pushes it further with a joke, despite wanting to latch onto the revelation.

“Bittersweet, sly, uncontrollable creature.”

“That’s more like it.” Theon grins as they put in a joint effort to get off his jacket.

* * *

“You called over an hour ago to say you were half an hour away,” Robb accuses them after they’ve been herded into the living room of Jeyne’s family home, leaving her mum making drinks in the kitchen.

“Something came up,” Theon tells him with a devilish smirk.

Robb takes one look between Theon’s face and Jon’s sheepish expression, notes their general dishevelment, and sighs. “Forget I said anything.” The look he gives Jon reminds him of all the times Robb was the one at the receiving end of Ned’s ‘I expected better of you’ grimaces whilst stood next to Theon.

Jon holds the baby, warm and sleepy, against his chest. She’s beautiful. The milk spots across her cheeks make him imagine the freckles she might have one day to fit with the soft auburn hair on her head to match her dad and a large proportion of their siblings. He could already burst, and then Theon sits up against him and leans in to get a look.

“Don’t be getting any ideas,” Theon warns, “a dog and a mortgage are quite enough.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “This is your Uncle Theon. He’s going to be the one you run to when the rest of us are being sensible.”

Theon smiles despite the shake of his head at the term uncle. His finger wiggles into her hand and she immediately grips it. “Little trouble causer,” he scolds her playfully, “if you only knew what you’d done. Lumbering me with this wanker.”

“I love you too,” laughs Jon and is rewarded with a caress at the back of his neck while they both ignore Robb and Jeyne’s warning that Theon will have to moderate his language sooner rather than later.

Call her Chaos, he thinks to himself with a grin.

* * *

This is some lovely art created by Lydia_Martin_trash - [Rainhalydia on Tumblr](https://rainhalydia.tumblr.com/post/625584674171994112/a-while-ago-i-read-salty-wenchs-amazing-greysnow) \- after a little laugh about the idea of a Pomeranian Ghost in order to fit him into a flat.

**Author's Note:**

> * Flitting between Westeros and UK like a madwoman so take an acronym for a public health service.
> 
> Comments much appreciated. Also, feel very welcome to say hi on [my new writing/asoiaf tumblr!](https://salty-wench.tumblr.com)


End file.
